Copyright © 2013 Mary Hughes
All rights reserved
Chapter Nine
On
their way out of the building, Vickie’s phone chimed. She pulled it out. “I’ve got
a voicemail.” She put it on speaker and played back the message.
It
was Tess. “Hey Vickie, you’ll never guess what I just heard on the office
grapevine. Not that I ever spread rumors, you understand.” She chuckled evilly.
“Since I got this directly from Jerry, and I consider it fact, not rumor.”
Vickie
was more hungry than interested in Jerry right then. But her ears perked up at
Tess’s next words.
“Mel
Pinlow got canned today. Not only did he screw up another big job, but he got a
sexual discrimination suit filed against the company because of his idiotic
behavior—remember how we used to call him ‘His AssHoliness’?”
Vickie
blushed. She felt sorry for Mel and hated to see it happen to anybody, but
wasn’t totally surprised. Time wounds all heels. Tess and Phil had been
covering for him too long.
“And
when I thought about the number of times he cut into you about your
professional conduct…” Tess laughed. “Well, I thought you’d like to hear about
it.”
“Poor
Mel.” Vickie ended the call and put away her phone.
“You
feel sorry for that jerk?” Cliff said. “I’d have fired him long before now, or
at least put him in rehab training. Or maybe I’d have fired him because he wasn’t
very nice to you.”
Vickie
stared. Cliff would have fired Mel long ago? She remembered thinking they were
two peas in a pod, like‑minded to the point of being twins.
The
sudden incongruity between who she’d thought he was and how he was acting slapped
her like a laptop to the face. How had she missed this decisive manager, this
supportive friend?
Well,
maybe she was confused by all the other Cliffs she’d met. The sweet lover at
the picnic. In the restaurant, the suave and cool and sophisticated man. The
powerful president and CEO of a multi‑million dollar company, telling her on
the car ride to his corporate head quarters in no uncertain terms that she
couldn’t judge his dealing with a power‑mad dictator. And of course in Middle Yemen
All
those Cliffs…if she had been a computer system, she would have had a system
overload/abort transaction message about now. As it was Vickie had to
consciously reel herself back in. She simply did not have enough information,
and she couldn’t trust her fragile heart to anything less than certainty.
And
if Cliff was anything, he wasn’t a certainty.
He
was eyeing her strangely. Oh yes, and another Cliff, the astute human being. Vickie
knew she had to say something. “Well, I don’t like to see anyone get fired,
although in this case, I supposed it’s for the best. Maybe Mel will learn
something from it.”
“I
doubt it. Egos like that seldom learn from experience.”
This
she could parry. “Oh? How did you learn so much, then?”
“Repetition.”
He smiled cryptically. “Practice.”
“What
does that mean?” She was speaking to his back. He’d headed toward yet another
strange car. She ran to catch up. “Let’s use my car this time, okay?”
He
smiled and followed her to her sedan.
Vickie
popped the locks, watched him fold his long frame into the car, fanned herself,
then she slid behind the steering wheel. Her faithful sedan started up on the
first crank, and she pulled smoothly out of the parking lot.
Cliff
amused himself by futzing with the stereo for a while. After he had rejected
half a dozen or so stations, she took pity on him and showed him the presets. He
hit the first one, liked it, and settled back.
She
smiled, a bit ruefully, to herself. Since the episode in the park, Cliff had
been the perfect gentleman. Gradually, her feeling of awkwardness around him
was subsiding. And without feeling obliged to remind him of his moral duties to
Prince Kulinahr, she was really beginning to enjoy his company, to feel
comfortable with him. Every day it seemed they found more things they had in
common.
Then
why did she feel something vital was missing? Something personal?
No.
Personal was bad. She should be happy. This was what she was trying to achieve,
a good professional relationship. When the project was over they could part
with no regrets, no hurt on any side.
A
pang hit her chest at the thought of leaving Cliff. No hurt indeed.
Vickie
clenched her eyes briefly. Hadn’t she learned anything? Actions said it all. The
way Cliff switched turn his passion on and off wasn’t love. It might hurt in
the short run but it was better this way. Enjoy the time they had together,
then leave. Good business. No regrets.
“Vickie?
What’s wrong?”
God,
why did he have to be so perceptive? When the Deity did not answer her, she made
an attempt to sidetrack him. “Do you think John will ever notice Tess as more
than just a friend?” Which was actually quite brilliant. It was close enough to
her own truth without revealing her feelings.
“Tess
likes John? Really? Why hasn’t she said anything to him?”
“Well,
I…I don’t know, but I’d guess she’s afraid to. John’s so attractive, he must
have scores of women after him…” Lovesick, one and all. “I imagine Tess just
doesn’t want to embarrass herself.”
“Sure,
scores of women who aren’t Tess. John would jump at the chance to date her. He
hasn’t asked her out because he says she always seems so aloof.”
She’d
never been aloof in Cliff’s arms.
“I’m
surprised you haven’t mentioned this to him. You’re close friends.”
She
and John had shared laughs, drinks, even sundaes. But… “Friends, yes. But
never…intimate…friends.”
Cliff’s
eyebrow went up. “I know. John would have warned me if you were lovers.”
“Great.
So glad we had this little chat.” Did men share everything? Was nothing sacred
from locker-room discussions?
Then
she turned onto the street for The Pizza Place and could practically smell the
spicy sauce and melted mozzarella. As she pulled into a parking space,
annoyance and doubts jettisoned in anticipation of a good dinner. She always felt
better on a full stomach. She leaped out of her car and hurried toward the
restaurant. His reply, something about non‑competition, was lost to her as she
flung open the door. The tang of tomato and oregano nearly knocked her off her
feet. She left him to plug the parking meter and beckoned to the hostess.
“Your
regular table, Vickie?”
She
and John and Tess and Belva and the others had come often to this restaurant to
talk and relax after a long, hard day’s work. This was a safe place. Vickie smiled.
“Yes.”
Cliff
entered just in time to receive a lingering once‑over from the hostess. Then
they were being led to a secluded booth with a window view of the river.
A
college age waiter zoomed up as they seated themselves. “Stuffed spinach pizza
and diet cola?”
Cliff
rolled his eyes. Before he could snark, Vickie added, “And two orders of cheese
garlic bread, Terry.”
When
the waiter had gone, Cliff waved at the walls. “This is the real reason you’ve
gained weight, isn’t it? Trying to blame those innocent hot fudge sundaes. Tsk,
tsk.” He shook his head slowly.
Vickie
primly unfolded her paper napkin and placed it on her lap. “Nonsense. The crust
is whole wheat, spinach is a marvelous source of several vitamins and minerals,
and cheese is a basic food in the milk group.”
“And
diet soda?”
“That’s
an essential component of a very necessary food group.”
“Which
is…?”
“The
diet food group. So I can eat more hot fudge sundaes.”
“And
brownies.”
“Ha.
Fat lot of them I get with you around.”
“You
had one just yesterday.”
“We
ordered four. I thought I’d have one for later, but you gobbled them up
so fast, the one I did manage to grab I nearly got my fingers bitten off.”
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