Just Yesterday (4 page)

A moment later she is gone, the sound of her heels on the tiled flooring echoing in my ears. I fight the urge to run after her and ask when I’ll be able to collect that dinner. Foolishly, I want something concrete. Something to hold on to.

As I drive back to the hotel, I feel my emotions swinging back and forth. It was so good to see Grace, and yet so depressing.

Once back in my room, I flip on the television and quickly scan the channels, looking for the local news. Channel Thirteen has that weatherman that I recognized from many years before. He’s aged rather nicely, I decide, before turning up the volume and pulling my suitcase out and tossing it on the bed.

I pack slowly, my mind jumping back and forth between my meeting with Grace and the visit to the hospital that I am planning. I decide I will spend the afternoon there, hoping for a change in Connie’s conŹdition before I have to get to the airport.

I can hear the weatherman bantering enthusiŹastically with the news anchor. But I am so focused on my plans for the day that it takes me several moments before the voice begins sinking in. It is familiar. Husky. That throaty laughter that I’d recognize anywhere.

I straighten up and turn slowly toward the teleŹvision screen. My senses know what to expect, my eyes and ears transferring a humming sensation all the way down my spine. I glimpse the red jacket. The copper tresses and those brown eyes that had stared into mine just half an hour before.

“In other news today, fire officials are focusing on arson as a possible cause for a three-alarm blaze that occurred overnight in the downtown district. Here with an update on that story is Jim Craig.”

The picture flashes to a young, fair-haired reporter standing before a pile of smoldering black ash. “Thank you, Grace. Fire officials do, indeed, believe that a three-alarm fire…”

I hear no more. My ears are humming and my knees can no longer hold my weight. With a loud oomph, I collapse on the bed, my jaw slack as I stare emptily at the television screen.

“She’s the fucking news anchor.” I say these words aloud, my eyes never leaving Jim’s features. “No wonder everyone was fawning all over her. She’s a fucking celebrity.”

Hopelessness hangs in the air of Connie’s room. Even Wendy seems vulnerable, her brows pulling together with worry as she watches over her lover. I stay just long enough to give my phone number to Charlene and ask her to call me when Connie’s condition changes. Then I head to the airport and board the first available flight.

That evening, I curl up next to Joanna on the couch and tell her all about my weekend. She knows me so well, and she understands my fears about Connie. We talk openly about the possibility of

Connie’s death and about the possibility of paralysis even if she survives.

Joanna understands, too, that it isn’t just the fact that Connie is lying in a hospital bed that has me so upset. She knows that part of it has to do with my sudden acknowledgment of the fragility of life. She also knows that I am feeling guilty for losing touch with Connie. That I regret not working out some of our differences over the past few years.

She knows that Connie and I had argued. That a wedge had been forced between us. What she doesn’t know is that the wedge was named Grace. Joanna doesn’t know that I have blamed Connie all these years for my failure with Grace. Even though I really know it had nothing to do with Connie, I have blamed her because I needed a reason. Because Grace had been completely absent and unreachable, Connie became the easy target.

I had been wrong to take it all out on Connie. And earlier that day I had wanted nothing more than for her to open her eyes so that I could tell her.

Joanna’s arms are a warm, safe place. As I thank her for listening to me, I touch her lips with mine and arousal stirs inside me. Refusing to let the fear of rejection find its usual place in my mind, I let my hands wander over Joanna as my mouth opens for her kiss.

But none comes.

“Kiss me, honey,” I whisper, and she does. But the lips pressed against mine are unyielding. Her teeth are clamped firmly together, and I break away from the kiss in frustration. “What’s wrong?”

“Liz, we shouldn’t do this.” Her voice is quiet yet firm, and I feel suddenly like a child being chastised.

“I know.” Embarrassed, I drop my head.

“You’re just emotional right now,” she says.

“I know,” I agree. “But it’s not just about Connie. I think it finally hit me over the last couple of days that you and I aren’t going to be together any more.”

She stares at me, eyes sad. “Me, too. But we both know it’s time.”

I nod in full agreement. Then I study her features closely. “Are you seeing someone else?”

Her jaw drops, and she looks like I’ve slapped her.

“No. Of course not. You know better than that.” I did. I knew she would never have an affair, and she would never see someone else without telling me.

“Oh, I know.” I tell her. I study her features, tracing the lines of her face that I know so well. Something inside me gives a little, and I know that as difficult as it may be, it’s finally time to let go.

I wrinkle my nose and cock my head to one side. “It ain’t gonna be so easy, is it?” I ask rhetorically.

“Nope.” She shakes her head. “I love you, Liz.” Her voice catches a bit.

“I love you, too.” And I do. I’ve never doubted it for a moment. Not the same kind of love that brought us together ten years ago, but genuine all the same. My heart melts and I pull her to me, wrapping my arms around her and holding her as close as I can.

Wednesday morning I meet with the editor of City Magazine, a Los Angeles-based magazine that focuses on the glamour of L.A. life. It is a trendy magazine that features articles on L.A.’s finest restaurants, famous nightspots, and local nontourist attractions. I had done a photo layout for them a month before on Los Angeles nightlife. It had been my very first magazine assignment that didn’t have anything to do with an advertisement, and I was anxious to see the final layout.

The meeting with Christine Walters, the editor-in-chief, is brief. While I wait for her in her office, I browse through one of the current issues and blink hard when my eyes focus on my very own photoŹgraphs.

“Nice, huh?”

Feeling like I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar, I jump up and drop the magazine to the coffee table.

Christine laughs, her long slender fingers retrieving the magazine I’d just dropped.

“Go ahead. Look again. They’re great photos. The layout is far better than we’d expected.” She flips through several pages and places the magazine back in my hands.

“Really?” I accept the magazine and study the images, a smile on my face.

“Really. Don’t sound so surprised. They’re fabulous.” She slides into the chair behind her desk and faces me squarely. “We want you to do more.”

I have known Christine for many years on a strictly professional level. We first met when my agency did some advertising work in City Magazine. Over the years, we developed an almost mentoring relationship, as she encouraged me to take more risks with my career.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Kelly Wagner is doing a series of articles over the next few months. The top ten cities in the United States and how they compare to Los Angeles.” She pauses briefly, dramatically. “Do you know Kelly?”

I nod. “We’ve met a few times. Mostly at conŹferences. That sort of thing.”

Christine’s nod is curt. “Good. Anyway, we weren’t really concerned about the photos that would accompany the article originally. But we’ve changed our minds. I think it would be an interesting perspective to have similar images captured in each city. Naturally it would make sense to have the same photographer in each location bringing the same focus to each city.” She pauses, a tiny smile on her wide mouth. “What do you think?”

I hate traveling. “Sounds like a great idea.”

“Are you interested?” Her expression is a mixture of professionalism and minx.

“Of course.”

“Good. I’d like you to work with Kelly to develop a schedule. I’m assuming one or two weeks a month for the next six months or so. I want to start the series next month. Are you available?”

She knows that I am. “Absolutely.”

“Good,” she says again, this time standing and reaching over to shake my hand. I jump to my feet and press my palm to hers.

“I’ll give Kelly your number, and I’ll have contracts drawn up and sent over. I want to move quickly on this, so let me know right away if the contract isn’t to your liking.” Her eyes are practically twinkling as she escorts me to the door, and I know that the contract will be very much to my liking.

On cloud nine when I return home, I dance into my makeshift office and flip on the computer. I sit down as I do each day and log on to the net. Since I haven’t checked my e-mail in days, my in-box is stuffed with messages. I scan down the list of return addresses, my eyes settling quickly on a message from GSULLY731. Grace. I check the date with interest. She’d sent the message last night. I click on the message and read.

Liz —

Oops. Sorry I left in such a rush this morning that I stuck you with the check. I promise I’ll buy dinner the next time you’re in Champaign.

Enjoyed our visit. Far too brief, though. It’s good to see that you haven’t changed a bit. I think maybe I’ve missed you. Maybe. — Grace

I read the message twice before trying to reply. Then, typing her name, I smile to myself as I remember the way that waitress had hovered all over us.

Grace —

You were holding out on me. Tsk. Tsk. You didn’t

tell me you were a celebrity. And it’s not like you to be so shy. Congratulations. I hope you’ll tell me all about it.

How sweet of you to offer dinner in Champaign. Particularly when you know that I get there so often. I look forward to collecting.

I read my words and frown, wondering if I would come across as silly or as sarcastic and witty as I’d intended. There is no way of telling, really. I want to come up with some clever way of letting her know that I have missed her. Very much, in fact. But wit evades me. And I don’t want to be misinterpreted, so I decide to keep it simple. Sighing, I continue to type.

Yes, it was good to see you. I’ve missed you, too.

Before I can think better of it, I click the send button and the message is gone. For a moment I sit in my chair, staring at the screen and thinking about Grace.

An image of Connie, face swollen and eyes shut, comes to mind and I shake my head. Connie and Grace. Grace and Connie.

The phone is ringing. My business line. I pick it up and use my best professional greeting. Moments later I place it back in its cradle and do a silent little dance. Kelly Wagner wants to meet me after lunch.

” Hi.” That voice. Completely unexpected.

“Grace?” It’s only been a week since I saw her, but the sudden knot in my stomach is at least the size of a softball.

“I’m afraid so.” Her voice is dry. “What are you doing for lunch?”

“Today?” Caught off guard, I am a bumbling idiot.

“No. Three weeks from tomorrow,” she laughs. “Yes, today.”

The knot turns to panic. After one week of dueling and flirtatious e-mails, Grace is suddenly here. Today. I glance at my watch. Nine o’clock. “Where are you?”

“At the airport.” Her voice is growing clipped, impatient. “I wasn’t going to call. But since I’m here I thought I might as well. I’m on my way to a meeting right now but have a few hours to kill before my flight leaves this afternoon. Can you get away? I know it’s short notice.”

My eyes find my reflection in the mirror above the bureau. My tousled hair is sprouting out in all directions from beneath a backward baseball cap.

Shit. Shit. Shit. “Of course I can get away. Where? When?”

I can hear the sound of paper rattling. “The Pier Plaza hotel in Long Beach. Two o’clock. Okay?”

“I’ll be there.”

She signs off and I listen as the line goes dead. I’m not sure if it is the phone or my head that is buzzing.

She is sitting in a wingback chair. Only her profile is showing. One slender, nyloned calf is draped over the other, casually bouncing slowly as long fingers tap the arm of the chair. Today the suit is navy, the silk blouse underneath a conservative white. Necklace and earrings are tiny pearls.

As I approach from the left, her chin lifts and comes around until our eyes meet and a broad smile lights her features. She uncrosses her legs and is on her feet to greet me. Our hug is brief and awkward, the heels of Grace’s shoes making her several inches taller than I had expected.

“Somehow I don’t remember you being so much taller than me.” I eye the heels of her pumps and she laughs.

“That’s because I only wore sneakers when I knew you before.” Her voice drops down to a conspiring whisper as she links one arm through mine and begins walking me to the door.

I feel myself blushing. Uncontrollably and for no reason.

“So where are you taking me to lunch?” she asks sweetly.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” I stop in my tracks. “It’s your turn to buy, remember?” She has continued on at the same pace so that I have to hurry to catch up with her. It is amazing how long her stride is, even in heels.

“No,” she is saying, throwing her words over one shoulder. “No. I distinctly recall that my offer was dinner in Champaign.” She stops briefly as I catch up with her, a playful smile on her lips. “And we are definitely not in Champaign.”

“No, we’re not. But how about if I settle for lunch in Long Beach and call it even. Deal?”

One eye squints playfully as she considers the proposal. “Oh, all right. Deal. Where am I taking you?”

“Just around the corner,” I grin. “Pier Four.”

Both eyes narrow now. “Huh. Now why do I think I’d have gotten off cheaper with dinner in Champaign?”

“Please,” I continue with our usual banter, referring to the current topic of our e-mails. “Here you are a successful news anchor. A celebrity, no less.