Wildfire (6 page)

I gasp as the deep tremors shake my whole body. Then the gasp grows deeper and more urgent and I realize it is his pleasure moan, with mine, making a unified sound that echoes through the golden room. I feel his seed buried deep in my body just as his heart becomes attached to my soul. We cling together riding out the wave of our pleasure until he must withdraw. He kisses and holds me until we both succumb to the power or the moment and the exhaustion of the day.

We wake up sometime later, too early to be morning but too late to be night. I continue kissing his chest and snuggling against him.

“You know what I need?” I ask seductively.

“Hmmm?” He mumbles, clearly still waking.

“I need some chocolate!”  That gets his attention. He sits up directly and reaches for his cell. Within minutes he has a bakery on its way with treats, and he is getting ready to put some strong coffee on.

“We’re not getting all the way up, are we?” I ask. I was hoping for a nice bedtime snacking session.

“No time like the present! Things to accomplish in our brave new world,” he says cheerfully.

“Oh my god,” I murmur. “You’re a morning person.”

I manage to wake up enough to be good company for a time as we drink our coffee and eat sweets. I don’t know what the future holds for us, but I sure know last night will stand in memory as one of the best nights in my life.

“I don’t want to drag up old crap,” I say tentatively. “But, why do you think Blake started talking about my father yesterday. His death was a blow to me like none other, yet, I can’t imagine your brother knowing or caring about that.”

“Blake was trying to dredge up your guilt. He knows guilt is one of the most powerful ways to get inside someone. If you can activate the guilt button, people will let you bother, control or harm them without defense.”

“But that didn’t work.”

“No, instead of pushing your guilt button, he just succeeded in pushing my anger button.” Mark laughed.

“Well, I don’t feel guilty about dad. I miss him every day, but I know he would be really happy with the changes I’ve made in my life and I know his love is always with me.”

“Good,” Mark affirms. “The less guilt you have in your life, the less people can get you down.”

I pause for a moment, taking a deep breath. He’s right, of course. Guilt will kill a relationship faster than jealousy, apathy or boredom. I let out a deep sigh that clues Mark in to the fact something big is coming.

“I do have something I feel guilty about,” I say slowly, playing with my coffee stirrer and refusing to make eye contact.  “I lied to you, Valerie, and pretty much everyone but Janice.”

“About what?”  Mark puts his coffee down and frowns my direction.

“There really is a big story at Lynx I’ve been hiding. It’s a make or break story and I didn’t tell you about it because I didn’t trust you and I thought you might be working for Blake or to get the story for Valerie.  If Lynx folded I was going to use it to start over.”

“Well, I knew that bullshit about a ‘source list’ was a lie, but I couldn’t figure out what you might be hiding and decided to let it go.” Mark concedes.  “What’s the scoop?”

“I hired a college kid who was going to intern at Tilden-Jennings. I figured that firm works with every other firm on Wall Street so I might find a story or two. Bosses tell interns everything in order to impress them, and I hoped I’d get lucky.  Well, I hit the jackpot. By then end of his semester my source was given information about stock colliding – where the firms pretend to be rivals but secretly pick a stock to dump and battle over it. Smaller, less experienced firms see the big ones fighting and snap up the inflated stock—”

“I know what stock colliding is,” Mark says. “And I know it’s illegal. I also know the kinds of firms that get ripped off are the ones who handle retirement funds and small investors who can’t afford to lose the money.”

“Anyway, I have names, dates, emails, and proof that Tilden-Jennings and three of the major firms on the street were engaged. They brought down a number of college endowments, pension funds, and new businesses. I’ve got it all. I wrote it at home and kept the payments, source and research out of the office to protect the source. They must have seen some messages from me about the “big story” because other than that I’ve been super careful.”

“Holy hell, Julia.” Mark says. “You’re going to piss off every power player in New York.”

“That’s not the point, Mark. The point is I have the story and it is written and ready to run. I’m leading off the next issue of Lynx with it. I’m going to put us back on the map.”

“You think Blake’s opposition was bad? Julia, even if Valerie had found that story she wouldn’t run it. It’s a hornet’s nest!”

“Valerie wouldn’t run it because most of her friends are in it!” I counter, getting a bit angry. I thought he’d take my side but I can see the cutting edge is no place for a well-set businessman who cares more about the bottom line than a teacher in Iowa losing her retirement.

“Think twice before you do this, Julia. Blake was a spark. This is fire.”

“I told you about it because I felt guilty keeping the secret, not because I wanted your advice,” I snap, getting off the stool and heading to the bathroom where I hung my clothes to dry.

“I don’t want to fight with you,” Mark says following me.

“Then stop talking,” I fire back.

I leave without so much as a goodbye kiss. He offers to drive me home but I tell him I’ll hail a cab. I ask him not to reveal the story to anyone and he promises he won’t.  Walking through his door I hear him say one thing under his breath that chills me to the bone.

“I can see we still have a lot to learn.”

Blake Stone being trussed up and stuffed in a police car not only did something good for the city, it enlivened my entire soul.  I spent the weekend in a whirlwind of energy doing laundry, coming up with layout and story leads, calling employees to tell them they were all rehired, and writing my editorial column for the next issue of Lynx.  I even managed to go over to Janice’s for lunch and take a quick trip for some new clothes.

Blake wasn’t out of his cell in time for dinner, as he predicted, but did manage to get bailed out the next day. I wasn’t too worried about him. On the advice of his new lawyer, he is staying home and laying low until trial. Mark spent his weekend at the office, helping investigators plow through the files and build a strong case.  We talked on the phone a few times. I apologized for leaving angry, and he said we both had to do what we thought was right.

I don’t need an alarm clock to get me up Monday morning. I arrived at the office about a half- hour earlier than normal to find most of the staff already there.  They brought in donuts and juice, and Janice put up a big banner that said, “Welcome back Miss Sharp.”  It had been purposely written to say “Welcome back Miss Shark” but there was a strike out through the “k” and a “p” had be put in its place. The staff clapped and cheered as I opened my office door, a flower arrangement from Mark on my desk. Standing in the doorway, my smile could have lit a small city at midnight.

“Miss Shark is indeed gone,” I tell my excited staff. “But, Julia
Sharp
is here to stay!”  

“Long live Miss Sharp!” someone cheers and another round of clapping ensues.

“Break up the love-fest,” Janice grouses. “Let’s get back to work. We have a magazine to put out!”

Everyone scurries to their cubicle or office leaving the two of us standing together. I give her a quick hug and go to my desk.  I place the flowers where I can see them and turn the small card over and over in my hand.

“Welcome back, Julia. I love you, M.S.” It reads. There’s a part of me that’s a little disappointed because I thought he might attend my reunion with Lynx. I know he’s swamped trying to keep his own company out of the mire right now so it makes sense he couldn’t be here.

“Miss Sharp,” Justin, the layout manager, comes in and plops down for our usual Monday meeting. “I need to know how you want to pursue the lead.  I know a guy who might be able to get a hold of Blake Stone’s booking photo and that would make an awesome cover, or if you wanted something more symbolic – like handcuffs on a dollar sign – I can get the illustrator started on sketches.”

“What are you talking about Justin?”

“The Sandstone Ventures story, of course. It’s not every day in New York that a major venture capitalist gets arrested for embezzlement, intimidation and trying to take over a magazine. If any publication has the inside scoop on this, it’s us. I figured it would be the lead.”

“We aren’t covering that,” I say quietly. I thought about it, naturally. Images of Blake between the arms of those two cops on the cover of Lynx would give me enough satisfaction to smile for a year. But, while it may sooth the ego it won’t pay the bills. When you pull outside of my reality, it’s little else than another “corruption in the city” gig and it would expose me and Mark to more examination than either of us want right now.

“You’ve been out a month, our deadline is this week and we’ve got nothing to lead. I can grab Fatima’s story about school vouchers, but I don’t think it’s hot off the press material.”

“School. That reminds me. Is Andy busy on something big? He’s our best street guy and I have an assignment for him right away. Send him in when you leave.” I wave dismissing him. Then realize that’s a Miss Shark habit, and I don’t want to be her anymore.  “Thank you. I’ll get back to you soon. Now, go.”

“But, I don’t have anything for the cover!” He protests. I can’t keep this a secret forever. I’ve got to trust my own staff.

“We have something very special making the cover. I have an expose I’ve been sitting on until the time is right. I’ll get you some copy by the end of the day and you can get working on an image. But, Justin, it’s all confidential, okay?”

“Of course,” he nods. I watch him walk out and give Andy the “batter up” signal. Andy quickly scrambles into my office.

“I’m working on an essay about the gentrification of West Central,” he says quickly as if I’m an interrogating officer.

“Well, stop. I have something better,” I grumble. His eyes glisten and I clearly have his attention.

“Something juicy?” He bargains.

“Down on Lexington and Dale there’s a group – some kind of house that helps hookers,” I start. “Walton House or something.”

“Walden House,” he corrects. “They are a charity that tries to help young sex workers make the transition out of the trade before they get sick or killed.”

“Fine, Walden House.”

“That’s what they are called, you know. Sex workers. It’s less demeaning than “hookers” and not as biblically damning as “prostitutes”. All women deserve some dignity, boss. Most of these girls—”

“Thank you, thank you,” I interrupt his high horse. “I don’t need you to tell me about dignity or these girls. I’ve met them. I know them. What I need you to do is get out there and find out why this charity is so underfunded it can only take two or three women at a time. This city can do better than that.”

“You know them?” Andy asks, his face a mixture of awe and confusion. I can tell he’s already sold on the story so I’ll be getting something good out of him. He turns to leave and I realize the interruption is again a habit I’d like to change. It’s becoming clear that the new me is going to have to fight to assert herself over the old habits.

“Andy,” I call to him as he hits the doorway. “I don’t want an objective piece of journalism. By the time this story is finished, I want Walden House to be so well funded they might need a new building to house all their programs. Got it?”

“Yes Ma’am!” He beams and practically skips to his desk.

I spend most of the afternoon rewriting the Wall Street piece to give to Justin. I double check my facts and make sure I have some kind of backup for every claim I make. I’m quivering with excitement when Janice knocks on my door.

“Fedex Priority Mail, certified letter,” she says, dumping the letter size package on my desk. “I had to sign for it and sign away the souls of my children.”

“I thought you already sold those, for yoga pants,” I laugh. Things aren’t just back to normal, they are better than normal.

“Well, at least my butt is smaller than my kids now,” she joins in the fun but doesn’t go back to her desk.

“And?” I ask looking up. Certified letters aren’t something new around here. She knows I’ll get to it when I can get to it.

“It’s from Sandstone Ventures. I thought it might be important,” she shrugs. I save what I’m working on and open the package. It’s probably just a notice about the next board meeting or something. But, when I open the package the envelope just says, “Julia” in Mark’s handwriting.