Love on the Air (20 page)

You're turning into me, girl, he thought. And it's
not a good idea.

Rick reached for the phone on the end table by the
couch and called the station. He recorded a message
at the front desk, explaining the overnight emergency,
and said he'd be in later. He'd never called in sick in
the five years he'd been there, and he couldn't remember ever calling in late. But he'd better get some rest,
even though sleep sounded impossible.

Rick shut his eyes and tried to shut out his thoughts.
Christie's last words to him-that final, verbal slapstill burned there. He could try to tell himself she'd
just been trying to put the brakes on a hopeless situ ation. Because she knew it was hopeless, knew it better than he did. But he knew the price of putting a job
before a relationship. Knew it better than she did.
Maybe, like him, she'd learn the hard way.

Whatever made her say it, one fact was inescapable.
It was more true than she knew.

Sylvia's affair had made him angry-furious-and
it had hurt. But underneath, there was the sneaking
suspicion that it didn't hurt quite the way it should. It
was what had made it easier, if not to forgive Sylvia,
at least to get back on civil ground. He knew he'd
failed at the marriage, too. Not as visibly or dramatically as Sylvia, and maybe not as badly. But he'd been
single-minded and more than a little self-centered. His
passion for the job, and that ambition to take L.A. by
storm, had been all-consuming. He hadn't gone to
someone else, but then, he hadn't needed to. If he was
honest, he had to admit that his heart was somewhere
else to begin with.

But no. He'd been wronged, and he'd practically
worn it like a badge, because it put everyone on his
side. He could magnanimously say he'd made mistakes too, and still look like a hero by comparison.
And when it came to getting close in relationships, it
was a comfortable cop-out. Sorry, can't do that, I've
been hurt.

It was easy. Or it had been, until Christie.

That was all moot now. Because she had an interview in Tucson on Monday, and he had no way to
stop her even if he wanted to.

Definitely not the pink one, Christie thought.

She stared into her closet at the dress she'd worn
for her first interview with Rick. That appointment had
been a near disaster, and the dress held too many associations for her now anyway. She knew she'd never
wear it again. The navy one she'd worn for her second
interview wasn't looking like a good choice, either.

Get a grip, she told herself.

It was really too soon to pack for Tucson, at any
rate. She wasn't leaving until the day after tomorrow.
Her plan was to drive out there Sunday, sleep there
that night, and go in fresh for her morning appointment. Afterward, she could make the eight-hour drive
back to Santa Moreno and still have time to get several
hours of sleep before her air shift.

If Rick still had her on the schedule.

Whether or not she got the job, whether Rick made
the official decision or she did, she had to leave
KYOR. After last night, that was crystal clear. She
would stay out her two weeks' notice, if that was what
Rick wanted; by now, they'd both had plenty of practice politely avoiding each other.

She rested her head against the open closet door and
refused to cry. She'd managed a few fitful hours of
sleep when she got home, only to wake up and remember everything that had gone so wrong last night.
Diving under the counter was probably the last smart
thing she'd done. Too bad she couldn't have stayed
down there. If she had those few hours in the studio
to live over again, what would she do differently?

If she had the past few months to live over again,
what would she do differently?

Not to have known Rick? Impossible. Not to have
been his friend? It was hard to picture. Never to have
kissed him? She closed her eyes hard. It hurt, but she
wasn't going to cry. It was Friday, so she didn't work
tonight, since Friday night was actually Saturday
morning. The time between now and the Tucson interview weighed on her. She didn't know what to do
with herself. But the one thing she was determined not
to do was cry over a nonexistent relationship.

She finally decided what she should be doing: writing her letter of resignation.

Yvonne picked up the phone in the studio.
"KYOR."

"Yvonne, it's Christie. Do you need me this afternoon?"

There was something wrong with Christie's voice.
Yvonne turned down the monitor speakers, to the
point where she could keep track of the music without
being distracted by it. "Nothing crucial." Fridays were
always a madhouse at the station, but she'd manage.
The strain in her friend's voice took priority. "What's
wrong?"

"Rick and I were up half the night for an emergency, and-things got bad."

Yvonne had been wondering about that ever since
she heard Rick would be late. "The earthquake? I
know. Rick called in too. I thought it was a sign of
the apocalypse."

"Rick called in?"

"Uh-huh. He told Karen at the front desk he'd be
in later. What happened, sweetie?"

"Oh, Yvonne, everything blew last night. He hates
me."

"No way," Yvonne said. "I never thought Rick
would ever call in. Not unless he got laryngitis so bad
he had to tap out a signal in Morse code. That's not
hate, honey. That's love."

"You weren't there last night." Christie's tone was
flat, dead.

It was time to back-announce the last song. Yvonne
cued the next one, instead of interrupting their conversation. "Are you okay, sweetie?"

"Not very. But I will be."

Stubborn. "Well, listen, take it easy. And call me
later on. We'll do something tonight, okay? Maybe
rent a chick flick."

"That sounds nice." But Christie's voice was still
faint. "I'll be down at the station for a few minutes
later on this afternoon. I've got something to take care
of first."

Christie went back over her resignation letter one
more time. Her official reason for leaving-"to pursue
other opportunities"-took up the least time and
space. She spent the rest of the letter acknowledging
both Rick and Yvonne for their encouragement and
support. She even included a friendly word about Rob.
She didn't know if anyone ever read these things, once
they were dropped into a file, but she wanted to put it
on record somewhere. She'd done several drafts, until
she'd said everything she could think of to say. Still, she wasn't satisfied, and finally Christie admitted to
herself why.

What she wanted to say most, she couldn't.

She loved Rick. Loved him as much as she'd ever
loved the job, and now she couldn't have either one.
She'd made sure of that last night. That cold look
when he left told her she'd burned her bridges, but
good. And it was just as well. She couldn't stay. It
had only been a matter of time before it all fell apart.

Now she could go somewhere else and pursue her
dream with a clear head. And if a handsome boss ever
looked at her sideways, she'd never look back. She'd
keep her eyes straight ahead, on the controls where
they belonged, and ignore any possible temptation.
But Christie knew there was no danger of that.

She'd never again, in her life, meet another Rick
Fox.

Finally, she cried.

A little after one o'clock, Yvonne peered down the
hall and saw Rick heading for his office with a bundle
of mail tucked under his arm, one letter already open
in his hand. He went inside and, for the second time
she could remember, closed the door behind him. The
plot thickened.

A minute later, her phone lit. The extension number
showed that the call was from inside the building. She
picked it up. "Studio."

Rick said, "Yvonne, have you heard from Christie?"

"She called a little while ago." Yvonne stood up
and leaned over the console, craning her neck to see Rick's door. It was still closed. "I think she might be
coming in later."

"Thanks."

"Rick?" Yvonne couldn't resist. "Where are you
calling from?"

"Very funny. If she comes in, let me know, all
right?"

"All right." The connection clicked off. Yvonne
thought about going across the hall and knocking on
the door, but thought better of it. She'd probably done
more harm than good already. This time, she was staying out of the middle.

Nearly two hours after his conversation with
Yvonne, Rick waited, his door open again. He was on
the air in less than an hour. Maybe Christie wasn't
coming. Maybe she really was going to leave things
the way they were last night. Maybe he should have
driven to her apartment instead of coming here, without worrying about whether or not she was ready to
see him.

Maybe she was already on her way to Tucson.

His hand was on the phone to call her when she
appeared at the door. Rick immediately rose to his
feet. And made himself stay put. He couldn't afford
to make any more mistakes.

She looked so small, framed in the doorway. Even
across the room, her eyes were a little too bright, as
though she'd been crying. She walked in with the
same stiff posture he'd seen the day he sent her out
of the station.

"Christie." He started to move from behind his desk.
Stopped. "Close the door, please."

"No, I won't be here for long." She approached the
front of his desk purposefully and stood there, ignoring the chair behind her. "Two things." She closed her
eyes for a moment, as if to compose herself. When
she opened them again, he saw brilliant shades of
green and blue, filled with a storm of emotion that
threatened to knock him over. There were times when
he'd felt he could read Christie well, but today, he
didn't dare guess. "Rick, I said something horrible last
night, and it wasn't fair. I'm sorry."

His grip on the edge of his desk relaxed. It was
enough. More than enough. Her shaky voice alone
would have made him forgive her, if he hadn't already. "It's okay. The bleeding stopped around lunchtime." He smiled, but she'd already looked away. He
started once again to move around the desk toward
her, but this time his legs were frozen. He watched
her draw in another deep breath, and knew there was
more coming. He had to stop her. "Christie, that's all
you need to say. I-"

"No, there's more." She held out a sheet of paper,
neatly folded in thirds. "Rick, I can't work for you
any more. I quit." She offered the letter to him like a
marshal serving a summons, but her voice wavered
again.

Her resignation was a given, and it didn't matter
now. But insistently, she held out the letter. Rick took
it without looking at it, without taking his eyes off
her. A few minutes ago, his mind had been swimming with words to say to her. He talked for a living. Why
couldn't he say anything now?

"I'm sorry it got so-" Christie brushed back a
strand of hair, still looking somewhere past him. He
couldn't even move, let alone speak. "I can stay until
you find someone, or I can leave right away. Just let
me know what you decide." She drew in a shaky
breath. "What I can't say in the letter-"

"That's three things."

Finally, he'd found the words to cut her off. Christie
stared at him blankly.

"You said you had two things," he reminded her.
"You've had your say. Now will you please sit down
and let me have my turn?"

So he was still angry. Christie didn't want another
confrontation. She backed up a step, and bumped into
the chair facing Rick's desk. "I have to go."

"I said, sit down. I love you."

Suddenly, sitting was no problem. She'd been trying
to avoid his eyes, but now his gaze had her caught,
and it took her breath away. Any trace of this morning's coldness was gone. She couldn't seem to find
the glib announcer, or the casual Rick from the hallways either. This was the steady, warm gaze of the
man who'd kissed her until she nearly fell over. That
look, as much as the words he said, knocked her knees
out from under her. Christie landed in the chair. Nothing had really changed, she reminded herself. They
were still right where they'd started, with him on one
side of the desk and her on the other. I love you. "What
does that mean?"