Turning It on (Red Hot Russians) (4 page)

He dropped onto a bench nearby. He’d blown the deal, and the fact that he would never speak to her again hurt just as much.

He sat for a while, watching people pass through a door beside the big one Alison’s truck had disappeared through. He should call Cody. Best to get it over with, while there was time to find someone else for Chris. Eric fished out his phone.

Just then, a small figure came through the door—a young woman dressed in jeans, boots and a navy-blue sailor coat with a leather backpack slung over one shoulder. She wore glasses and a Chicago Cubs ball cap pulled low over her eyes. She looked like a college student just off her waitressing shift, but Eric’s pulse quickened as he noticed the blond ponytail sticking out the back of her cap. She passed by and blended into the crowd exiting the convention hall.

In a split second, Eric was on the move.

He wasn’t going to follow her. That would be weird. Stalkerish. He only wanted to make sure she got to her car safely. Once she drove away, he would call Cody. But she passed the entrance to the parking garage, heading instead to a wall of sliding glass doors and turnstiles. Above the doors was a sign. Welcome to the CTA Blue Line.

The subway? Alone? At night? Good God, didn’t the woman watch police shows? He couldn’t possibly turn back now.

She swiped a plastic card through the top of a turnstile and got on the escalator going down. Behind her, Eric fumbled with his wallet and fidgeted as a surly worker counted back change from his hundred. He shoved the cash in his pocket and dashed down to the platform.

Alison was at the far end, her back turned.

He ducked back into the tiled corridor that led to the platform and bought a newspaper from a vending rack. A train roared past the platform and squealed to a stop. He waited until she boarded, then got on just as the doors were closing. She was at the opposite end, reading a book. He took a seat near the door and opened the paper to shield his face.

The train wound and jerked through the dark tunnel. After about fifteen minutes, the conductor called out a stop and Alison rose from her seat. Eric waited until she was off the train, then followed her out of the station, staying a safe distance behind.

Montrose Avenue was brightly lit and bitterly cold. Icy wind knifed through his sport coat. Why would anyone in their right mind chose to live in this frozen hellhole? Even late at night there were people around, but there were also a couple of bums lounging on the sidewalk. Alison stopped and spoke to one. She took something from her coat pocket, gave it to him and continued on her way.

Eric passed the man, who was huddled under a ragged blanket. “Hey, man, can ya help me get somethin’ to eat?” He held up a grimy coffee cup, and Eric fished a bill from his coat pocket and dropped it in, without taking his eyes off Alison. “Thank you, sir! Thank you! God bless you!” the bum called out, as half a block up, Alison unlocked a door and disappeared inside.

Eric stopped in front of the door where she’d gone in. It was a restaurant that appeared to be closed for the night. He peered into the deserted dining room, which held about a dozen tables draped with red-and-white-checked tablecloths, and booths along one wall. There was a light on in a room behind the dining room, which was probably the kitchen.

What the hell? Did she work here or just live upstairs? He found the whole thing baffling, but jotted down the Homestretch Café’s address and hours on the car show map with her autograph.

Back in his hotel room, Eric fired up his laptop. He typed her name into the Internet Movie Database, and worked from there. By midnight, he knew all about the Homestretch Café and how Alison had spent her years since leaving Hollywood. He also had an idea that just might persuade her to go on
Last Fling
.

He settled into bed with renewed confidence that he still might be able to salvage this after all. His eyes grew heavy and he drifted off, lulled by the storm raging outside. A storm that never stopped. Somewhere, a door opened and a beautiful doctor entered. She came to his bedside and began to stroke his chest and lower body. Then she climbed onto the bed for a more thorough examination and unbuttoned her white lab coat. Beneath it, she wore a red bikini.

Chapter Four

In Hannah’s opinion, the Italian hole-in-the-wall a few blocks from her office had the best chopped salad she’d ever eaten. She and Laurie, the senior editor Hannah worked under, had lunch there most Thursdays. It began as a way to prep for the afternoon editorial board meeting, without constant interruption. Now, conversations often strayed, and lunch took longer than it was supposed to.

“So what’s your take on the dystopian werewolf book?” Laurie asked between bites of spinach lasagna. “I gotta say, I love all the post-apocalyptic stuff we’re getting lately, but I’m not sure this one is worth getting into a bidding war.”

Hannah hadn’t expected to be thinking about the next round of horror acquisitions, but after losing out on the literary fiction job, dystopian werewolves would be part of her life a little longer. She dug out a generous forkful of salad, drenched in balsamic vinaigrette, too tasty to be good for you. “I didn’t love it. The ending felt tacked on, like he was rushing to finish, and his female characters had no depth at all.”

“Damn right.” Laurie pointed with her fork for emphasis. The stack of silver bracelets on her left arm jingled. “Show me a male author who can write women well, and I’ll sign his ass so fast. Swear to God, if I read one more Too-Stupid-to-Live heroine with big tits...” She paused, her dark brown eyes lingering on Hannah’s layered scarves. “Even so, werewolf books are hot and word from upstairs is that we need to be acquiring more.”

“In that case, why not this one?”

Laurie nodded. “We’re not the only house interested in the book, either. Anyway, the vibe I’m getting from the guy’s agent is that with offers on the table, Mr. Debut Author is now convinced his shit doesn’t stink.”

“Too bad his book does,” Hannah said.

“Exactly. Which means he’ll be a royal pain to work with come revision time.”

Hannah could guess where this was leading. “He wouldn’t be the first. Hey, if Bettendorf wants to jump in and try to acquire it, I’ll be back by the time we get into revisions, so you won’t have to deal with him.”

“You are the best assistant I have ever worked with. Even though I’m sorry you didn’t get the editor’s job, I’m not sorry at the same time. Know what I mean?”

Hannah nodded. “Thanks for saying so.”

“Your time will come, Hannah. You’re passionate and damn good at what you do.” Laurie buttered a slice of bread, then set it down on her plate and peered across the table. The sounds of lunchtime chatter filled the awkward silence. Hannah knew what was coming. In the weeks since she told Laurie about
Last Fling
, she’d sensed a shift in their otherwise friendly relationship. The older woman cocked her head and furrowed her well-groomed brows. “You’re really going through with it?”

“Yes. But I promise to have as much done as possible before I go. I’ll be taking the rest with me and Eric said he’d schedule my shoots around my workday. You can reach me by email or phone, anytime. You’ll hardly even notice I’m gone.”

“This is good, because the powers that be weren’t inclined to grant a ten-week personal leave. I had to do some major politicking, but promised you would keep up with everything, same as if you were here.”

“Absolutely. What’s the issue, then?”

Laurie folded her hands in front of her and gazed intently across the table. “You’ve told me all the reasons why Jack wants to do this. What I’ve yet to hear is why you want to do it.”

Hannah hesitated. Laurie was the daughter of a well-known feminist author and had burned a bra before she was old enough to wear one. Her boss would tell her she needed to be more assertive. Stand up for her needs. Worst of all, Hannah knew she was right. The passage of time hadn’t made her any more comfortable with the decision to open her relationship to the scrutiny of millions of TV viewers. Yesterday, people from the show had come to her apartment to interview her without Jack. Their leading questions suggested that they were looking for problems to exploit and she’d been careful not give away her uneasiness. But if she could make Laurie understand why she was doing it, then she herself might feel more at peace.

“I’m doing this because I love Jack, and this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance for him to be on a TV series. I’ve seen what can happen when couples don’t support each other.” She dug her fork into the salad again. There must be another black olive in here.

“Go on,” Laurie said, quietly.

She glanced up again. “That’s it. Am I so terrible for wanting to do something nice for someone I love?”

“Of course not. But if he wasn’t in the picture, would you be doing this?”

She gave a harsh laugh. “Going on a reality show for engaged couples? Considering that I probably wouldn’t
be
engaged, highly doubtful.”

“You sell yourself short, Hannah.”

“Hate to tell you, but before Jack, men weren’t exactly beating a path to my door.”

“Maybe you hadn’t met the right one. Regardless, it’s no reason to humiliate yourself.”

“I’m not humiliating myself. I get to invite flings, too. I was thinking about Crusher, the pro wrestler. Remember him from his book tour last year?”

“Sorry, kiddo, it’s not common knowledge, but Crusher’s gay.” Laurie brushed her hand through her chic short hair. “You honestly believe this is going to make Jack happy?”

“Sure. It’s a chance to have the career he wanted, but was denied.”

Laurie sighed. “I’m not one to lecture anyone about their relationship, but I see all kinds of trouble here. You’re a good woman. A smart woman. And you are
not
responsible for his happiness.”

“I know that.” She set down her fork, and looked Laurie in the eye. “My dad used to have a lot of crazy dreams and my mom ignored all of them. One day he came home, told her he wasn’t happy and was moving to San Francisco. Alone. He got to find himself, and my mom got to raise my sister and me on her own, which was not easy.”

“And you don’t want to end up in the same boat. Look, it’s none of my business. I’ve never even met Jack. What do your girlfriends say about it?”

“My girlfriends?” She paused and looked away. “Nothing really.”

Which was in fact, true. Because they’d never discussed it. Months had passed since she’d had any contact with them beyond tweets and Facebook likes. It was sad. In college and right after, they’d all been so close. What happened?

Jack happened.

Her embarrassing little secret. Though she’d never meant for it to be this way, somewhere along the line, she’d morphed into one of those women whose entire life was wrapped up in a man.

In the heady early days with Jack, she’d been content to stay in her little cocoon of happiness. A couple of months in, she surfaced for air and started introducing him to her friends. It didn’t take long to see how little they had in common. Her friends were East Village creative types, ethnically and sexually diverse. Jack’s world was the buttoned-down financial district. Her friends worked to live. Jack’s firm demanded, like it or not, that he live to work.

The tension was palpable. Offhand remarks about office drones or someone’s politics would linger and fester for days. Though Jack seemed to view her friends with disdain, it wasn’t hard to see just beneath the resentment, he envied their freedom. While he never asked her not to see her friends, he made it clear he had no interest in spending time with them. She could have gone without him, and sometimes did. But going out and having fun with people he didn’t like, while he was a prisoner at the office felt disloyal. As her professional responsibilities grew, she began to fill her evenings with work, as he did. The invitations slowed to a trickle, but Hannah, ensconced in her cozy Jack-centered world, hardly noticed.

Eventually, they stopped altogether.

Now, she couldn’t possibly go back and admit there was trouble in paradise. Not that there was. Everything was fine. She’d been happy before
Last Fling
, and once it was over and Jack was happy, too, she would be again.

* * *

Sunday morning she and Jack took the train out to Port Pleasant for dinner with their families. Hannah was focused on the work she’d brought along. Her last day in the office was Friday, and she still had to finish editing three manuscripts, plus prepare a report for marketing on the newly acquired dystopian werewolf book. But two stops from Port Pleasant, she looked up to see Jack gazing pensively out the window, ignoring the open computer on his lap. Something was on his mind. Probably the same thing that was on hers.

“We have to tell them today, Jack.”

He nodded. “It’s probably too much to hope that they wouldn’t notice us gone for ten weeks.”

“Hey, you wanted to do this,” she said under her breath. Jack glared, but didn’t rise to the comment. Which was good. She’d been in a shit mood ever since the conversation with Laurie on Thursday. She glanced at the legal brief displayed on his laptop screen. “Weighing you down, are they?”

“As always.” He sighed and closed the laptop. “Why did I ever think I wanted to be a lawyer?”

“Wasn’t it your dad’s idea?”

“What father wouldn’t want to have one son who’s a doctor and the other a lawyer?”

“And you wanted to make him proud.”

“God, you make it sound like I have no mind of my own,” Jack snapped.

“That wasn’t how I meant it.”

“I know.” He leaned back against his seat and the pensive expression returned. “By the way, Mark, Melinda and the kids will at my parents’ today.”

Ahh, here was the reason for Jack’s prickly mood. Bringing up
Last Fling
in front of Dr. Perfect would definitely be weird. “What’s new with them?” Hannah asked, keeping her voice casual.

“Oh, not much. Mark’s practice is thriving. Melinda’s yoga studio has been named Long Island’s best. Miles is so brilliant he’s been promoted from third grade to fifth, and Gwyneth Paltrow is now following little Morgan’s vegan living blog. A typical week in the life.”

Hannah gave him an affectionate nudge. “You’re too funny. You almost had me convinced your seven-year-old niece...”

Jack’s mouth twisted in a sour smile. “Who said I was joking?”

Jack’s parents had promised to meet them at the station, but instead of the Gordons’ white Beemer, a gleaming black Lexus was parked at the curb. A taller, more polished version of Jack got out and waved. “Hey, bro!”

Jack plastered on his best fake smile. “Mark! Great to see you. It’s been a while.”

He shrugged. “Life’s crazy. Hard to squeeze in the parents. Even today, I’m on call, and the kids just have an insane amount of homework. Miles was accepted into this gifted program—” He stopped and laughed. “Listen to me. Congratulations. Mom and Dad told me the big news.” He pressed a kiss to Hannah’s cheek. “Finally turning this horndog into an honest man, are you?”

“Finally.” Hannah smiled, wishing she liked Jack’s brother more than she did.

He opened her car door and Hannah slid into the pristine backseat. It didn’t seem possible that two children rode around in this car. The back of Mom’s old Toyota was always littered with stray crayons, Rachel’s hair ribbons and petrified French fries. In the front, Jack and his brother talked football, as they drove to the Gordons’ house. Mark parked behind Edie Levinson’s current used Toyota. A decal advertising her home-based tax prep business was plastered across the rear window.

The Gordons’ house was identical to the early 1950s ranch Hannah grew up in, only this one had undergone a palatial renovation to add a cathedral foyer, second floor, gourmet kitchen and rear family room.

Marcy Gordon greeted them with hugs and took their coats. “So, what do you think?” she asked, as they stood in the industrial-chic foyer that had replaced the Tuscan, which had replaced the Country French.

Jack pointed to a wheeled metal cart with black wire baskets, pushed against a newly painted lime green wall. “Didn’t that used to be in the garage?”

“It’s called repurposing,” said Jack’s niece, Morgan. She crossed the room with small, catlike steps, and her hair grazed her shoulders in a perfect black curtain. “It’s really the most responsible way to live. I wrote a blog about it that inspired Grandmamma.”

“Maybe someday you’ll inspire her to remove the slaughtered animals from her table.” Melinda Gordon approached with the same fluid movement as her daughter, and cast a not-so-subtle glance at Hannah’s baggy dress and Doc Martens. “And how are you, Hannah?”

“Well, thanks. And you?”

“Marvelous.”

Was there any other answer in the Gordons’ world?

Ignoring her daughter-in-law, Marcy grinned and looped her arm around Morgan’s shoulders. “Gwyneth Paltrow. Can you believe it? Isn’t this the most amazing little girl you’ve ever met?”

“Incredible.” Jack echoed.

Marcy ushered them into the back of the house. In the family room, Jack’s father Ralph was watching the Giants’ play-off game. Hannah’s mother came out of the kitchen, carrying a platter of carved chicken. “Hi, Mom. Did you come over early to help Marcy?”

Edie set the platter on the table, and gave Hannah a peck on the cheek. “Early? You’re late! We expected you an hour ago. Go wash up, dinner’s ready.”

As usual, the mothers had outdone themselves. There was roasted chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, broccoli with almonds, homemade challah. How many dinners had Hannah eaten at this table since Dad moved out and Marcy made the Levinsons her personal rescue project? With more exciting social prospects, Rachel soon found other things to do but Hannah kept coming, eager for the sight of Jack, which fed her heart, just as a shared meal and time with her best friend fed her mom’s.

Melinda and her children took only the vegetables, while Jack’s dad indulged in heart-attack-sized portions. Ralph Gordon patted his round belly. “Pass the mashed potatoes, would you, Hannah, dear?”

As she passed the bowl, she glanced at the contents. Mom pointed a red-tipped finger. “Hannah Leah, don’t get any ideas about seconds. Not if you have any hope of fitting into a wedding gown.”

Marcy sipped Moscato. “How is the dress search going? I would have loved to go with you last time.”

Edie groaned. “You didn’t miss much. With Rachel, finding a dress was easy. She looked stunning in everything. But this one? Every gown is strapless, and strapless makes her look like a cartoon character!”