Channel 20 Something (12 page)

“Nope.” Aric crossed his arms and settled back against the desk. “All done.”

“Well, I hate to evict you from your front row seat to the cosmetics show, but I can’t do this with you watching me,” I finally admitted. “You’re making me nervous.”

Aric stood. “Oh. Sorry. Speaking of nerves, I know we didn’t get to it yesterday, but whenever you’re ready, I could show you a relaxation exercise.”

“Do you really think it’ll help?” I asked.

“I do. I told you, I’ve used it myself.”

“You’re not going to try to hypnotize me or something, are you?”

He laughed. “No. Nothing like that. Come on over to the sports ‘office’ when you’re ready.”

I finished my makeup, printed my scripts, and a half hour before the newscast, I did wander back over to the sports corner. He sat at his monitor, unaware of my presence. Pausing, I stared at Aric’s back, wondering if I’d lost my mind. I’d almost decided to sneak away and resign myself to another night of wretched retching, but Aric turned around and caught me.

“Hey. You ready to try it?”

I nodded and walked over to the chair Aric was positioning opposite his. “So… how did you learn to do this?” I asked.

“My mom. She’s a cognitive therapist.”

“So you must have stellar mental health, then.”

“Or I’m
really
messed up. It can go either way,” he joked. “Anyway, she taught me a few things to use before swim meets, and it’s helped for work, too. Okay, close your eyes.”

I closed my eyes but quickly opened them again. “Promise you’re not going to make me cluck like a chicken or stand on my head or take off all my clothes?”

He grinned and raised an eyebrow in a way that made me wonder. “I’m starting to wish I
was
a hypnotist.” He laughed wickedly. “No, you can trust me. Close your eyes. Good. Okay… you’re going to think about relaxing your body, one muscle group at a time. Start by tensing your toes for five seconds, then relax them for thirty seconds. Don’t worry about counting, I’ll talk you through it. And the whole time, you’ll be saying to your mind, ‘I’m relaxing now,’ or ‘I’m starting to relax.’ Okay, now your calf muscles. Keep telling yourself, ‘I’m beginning to relax now.’” His voice paused then continued, “All right, now tense your thigh muscles… and relax them.”

I wasn’t sure I would be able to achieve the level of relaxation we were aiming for as Aric verbally worked his way up my body. Certain areas he hadn’t mentioned were tensing as well. Was he watching me, focusing his eyes on my different body parts to make sure I was doing it right? My entire body tensed, all at once. My eyes flew open.

“I can’t do this.”

“Yes you can. You were doing great.”

“I feel silly. I’m too self-conscious.”

Aric folded his lips in and looked up at the ceiling for a second. “I’ll tell you what—I’ll close my eyes, too, okay? I won’t watch you. Although, I have to say, you did look pretty peaceful there for a few minutes.”

When I gave him a wide-eyed look, Aric laughed softly and closed his eyes, resting his hands on his spread thighs, palms up. A pause. “You’re not looking at
me
now, are you?” His voice held a seductive, teasing note.

I slammed my eyelids closed. “No.”

We sat facing each other, but not touching, eyes closed (I peeked once to make sure), and Aric began again at the toes. By the time he told me to tense and relax my neck, I had to admit I felt pretty serene.

“Now, picture yourself inside a large clear bubble, like the ones you blow when you’re a kid.” Aric’s voice was low and soothing. “Your bubble lifts off the ground and floats, rising high in the sky. You’re traveling inside your bubble to a beautiful, peaceful place, a place where you feel good. Your bubble lands there and you get out. Notice what you see, the sounds, the smells of this place.”

I was in the newsroom with Aric, but I was also at the beach. For a few minutes, I could smell the ocean air and feel the grains of sand under my knees and hands, hear the rushing and fading of the surf. It was actually working. I was doing it.

And then it was gone. I’d gotten too excited and yanked myself out of the moment. My eyes opened, the heavy relaxation slowly lifting from my limbs. I didn’t speak, and Aric stayed relaxed in his chair, loose-limbed, his eyes closed. I couldn’t stop myself from staring at him.

He looked almost asleep, his brow smooth, his lips slightly parted, so full and soft-looking. What do you know? I’d discovered an
anti
-relaxation exercise—staring at Aric. My heartbeat, which had been slow and steady minutes ago, launched into a tumbling routine. I probably should’ve said something, should’ve let him know I was out of the exercise. But my mouth wouldn’t open.

Instead I took advantage of the opportunity, letting my eyes roam the length of his body, from his slightly mussed golden hair (too bad he’d have to fix it before air-time) across his broad shoulders, down his tight torso and miles-long legs to those size thirteens then back up to his tranquil expression. His eyelids were open. Oops. Bad. Very bad. The tumbling routine in my chest turned into a frenzied triple-spinning dismount.

My face flamed. “Hi,” I whispered.
So busted.

He gave me a slow grin. “Hi.” The grin widened. “All relaxed now?”

“Um, sort of. It was working, but I ruined it.”

“It’s okay. It takes practice.” His voice was rough and sleepy-sounding. “Where were you?”

“The beach. Where were you?”

“Bathtub. Scalding water, ice cold beer.”

I jumped up as if my chair had become electrified. “Sounds… nice. I’ve got to go. To the set. Now. Thanks.” My words came out at machine gun speed. I nearly ran from the sports area, though there were still twelve minutes left until the show started.

It had almost worked. If I’d been able to hold onto the peaceful feeling a bit longer, it might have. Sadly, I did end up dashing for the ladies room at five till ten, but I could see how the technique might eventually help me win my battle with performance anxiety. As long as the exercise wasn’t followed by a slow perusal of the most gorgeous guy I’d ever seen and a mental image of him soaking in a bathtub.

Aric came out to the set during the final commercial break, as usual. Flashed me his usual charming grin. But nothing else was normal. I felt almost starved to see his face, to have the opportunity to study him at close range again. When he unfastened a couple of buttons to thread his microphone through his shirt, I caught a glimpse of his chest and thought I might pass out from the arrhythmia it caused. Maybe he had hypnotized me after all. Or maybe I’d finally admitted to myself… I liked him.
Sugar. Not again.

I couldn’t imagine a fate worse than falling for a guy like him—the guy everyone falls for, the guy who
knows
it. I fixed my eyes on the monitor in front of me, seemingly watching the sports highlights and Aric’s brief on-camera segments. In actuality, my peripheral vision was working hard, gathering details about him, the way he tapped one long, tan finger on the glass desktop as he read the prompter, the way he spread his legs under the desk, stretching his expensive-looking dark suit pants over muscled thighs, the way he raked a hand through his hair every time the show went to video, trying to tame a lock that refused to stop falling onto his forehead.

Maybe I
needed
to see a hypnotist who’d convince me to… Just. Stop. It. My plan to work with Aric and remain unaffected by him was failing miserably.

After the show he approached my desk. “Hey. So… I guess it didn’t really help you.”

“No, it was good. It did work for a few minutes, and like you said, I need to practice. I think it’s actually going to help a lot. I appreciate it. You… you’ve been really nice to me.”

“I like you Heidi. You’re a nice person—a little uptight, but nice.”

“Hey,” I protested.

“You’re not uptight?” He raised both brows and dipped his chin.

“Maybe a little.”

“
And
I think you’re really good. You have such great potential. I just thought I might be able to help. I hope you’re planning to send your reel out soon.”

“Thank you. I will. A few more stand-ups, a couple more shows of anchoring and I’ll re-edit it. Thanks for your help this weekend. I couldn’t even have begun to do it all without you. I wish I could repay you somehow.”

Aric seized me with an intense stare and paused as if he was about to suggest something, but he kept his mouth shut and sniffed a short laugh. “Not necessary. Well, goodnight, Heidi. Enjoy your days off.”

“Yeah. You, too.”

Once it had occurred to me, I couldn’t get the idea out of my head all week long. Aric had been so generous to me, even when I’d acted inexplicably hot-then-cold toward him. I wanted to do something nice for him, too, to even the score. I hated feeling like I owed him something.

The perfect idea came to me while watching Thursday night’s sports segment. Yes. Yes, yes, yes. He would love it. And it was so huge, it would totally pay him back for the vocal exercises, relaxation technique advice, and photography help. I picked up the phone and set up an interview for Sunday afternoon then went into the weekend assignments file on the newsroom computer system to block out a segment of time in each of our schedules.

“Not even one little hint?” Aric rode shotgun as I drove the news car to Starkville on Sunday.

“Not even one. You’d never guess anyway.” I smiled at the perfect timing of my surprise. The day before had been busy for us both, which was good considering the new tension that seemed to live between us.

Aric’s Saturday had been particularly hard thanks to the Bulldogs’ loss on the football field and the resulting short and gruff answers from the players and coach in the post-game press conference. Three words and a glare was the most any of the reporters had gotten from Coach Barlow.

I drove to Turnberry Lane in Country Club Estates, a beautiful, well-manicured neighborhood on a large golf course in Starkville. I pulled the news car into the wide, cobble-stone circular driveway in front of a gracious brick home centering a two-acre lot.

“Who lives here? A pro-athlete?” Aric asked as I stopped the car.

I glanced at him and smiled. He stared at the house and appeared to be wracking his brain for a list of sports stars from Mississippi.

“You’ll see,” I said.

We got out of the car and opened the trunk. I looked up at him apologetically. “I know I’m the photog today, but if you don’t mind carrying the gear, it’ll go over better with our interview subject. He’s kind of old-fashioned.”

“Of course—you know I want to carry it anyway. Okay, so
retired
pro athletes…” Aric continued his guessing game as we walked toward the house. “I know it’s not Brett Favre. He lives further south. Jerry Rice?”

“Nope. Hold your Kentucky Derby racehorses there, mister. You’ll find out.”

We climbed the front steps, pushed the doorbell, and stood listening to its chimes ring through the stately home while we waited on the wide, columned front porch.

The wooden door was opened by a gray-haired man in a golf shirt and shorts, both emblazoned with the MSU sports logo.

Aric’s jaw dropped. “Coach Barlow?” He whipped his head around to look at me, his eyes wide with fear that we’d accidentally ding-dong-ditched the head coach of the Bulldogs, who famously hated any and all media members.

“Well, there she is,” the coach’s voice boomed. “Heidi, Heidi darlin’. Come here girl.”

I stepped forward into the older man’s fatherly hug. “Hi Beebee.” I squeezed his generous tummy and stepped back to look at Aric, fighting the urge to laugh at his astounded expression.

“Beebee… I mean, Coach Barlow, I’d like you to meet my friend Aric. He’s our new weekend sportscaster—you might have seen him at the press conferences the past couple of weekends.”

“They’ve got so many flippin’ lights shining in my eyes at those things, I can’t see a flippin’ thing. So, you vouch for this kid, Heidi? He a good guy?”

I glanced up at Aric. “He is, Coach. He really is.”

“Well, if you say so, it’s good enough for me. Come on in, kids. We can sit in the den. I’m watching the Falcons game. What do you think of their new quarterback, Aric?”

I followed the two men, one gray and grizzled, the other young and so vital he nearly took my breath away, and congratulated myself on pulling off the perfect coup. An in-depth exclusive interview with the elusive and legendary Bobby Barlow would earn Aric major kudos at work and most likely land his report on the national sports feed. And it would erase any obligation I might owe to Aric. I was brilliant.

Two hours later we were exchanging handshakes and hugs at the front door, preparing to head off for our next shoot. Aric and I got into the car. He took the wheel this time, though he didn’t start the engine right away. Instead, he turned in his seat to stare at me.

“Beebee?”

I laughed. “When I was a baby I couldn’t say Mr. Barlow. Bobby came out sounding like Beebee. I guess it stuck.”

“You never mentioned legendary SEC football coach Bobby Barlow used to change your diapers.”

“Yeah, I wish he hadn’t mentioned
that
part either, but I did try to tell you once. You were just too busy calling my godfather an ‘asshole’ to listen.”

“Actually, I think I called him a dick. I take it back.”

“You did a good job with him. It’s going to be a tremendous interview. And Dennis is gonna freak.”

“Thanks. I did okay, but he was pretty much putty in my hands after his precious Heidi Darlin’ gave me the green light.” Aric stared at me with an expression of wonderment. “Thank you for setting that up. I know you’re putting an important family relationship on the line—I’m not going to burn you—I’ll make it good.”

“I know.”

After the show I sat in an edit bay, adding that day’s package on a community cleanup at Lake Lowndes State Park to my reel. I watched the stand-up Aric had shot for me. The on-screen version of me walked along the bank of the lake under some shade trees, stooped and trailed my fingers through the water, then stood and walked toward the camera as I delivered my stand-up. The lighting was perfect, making my skin glow and my eyes seem extra bright and clear. Aric had done a great job with the camera work.