Love on the Air (12 page)

"For what?" she said lightly. "Trying to crush my
spirit?"

He laughed. "I don't think that's possible."

"So why'd you do it?" It was hard to make out her
expression in the shadows.

Oh, come on. Was she fishing, or did she really have
no clue? If she'd parked closer to a bloody street light,
the way she should, maybe he'd be able to read her
face. "Do you really need to ask me that?" he said
quietly.

She was standing just a step away. If she dared to
ask, Rick wasn't sure whether she'd be getting her
answer in words or not.

Christie's eyes fixed on his for what felt like a long
time. Then she took a step back.

"Never mind," she said.

Good. At least one of them had some sense.

She got into her car quickly, before he could help
her with the door, which was just as well. Too many
more opportunities to touch. Rick watched her taillights fade away. He tried to shut out visions of an
alternate reality where both of them were stupid
enough to forget who they were, and try out that kiss.

He returned to the front door, started to open it, and
growled under his breath. Then, reluctantly, he started
ringing the bell to wake Jason up.

He'd locked himself out of his apartment.

"Go ahead," Yvonne said. "It's only once a year."

Christie eyed the cranberry red dress on its hanger
at the clothing shop. Then she looked at the price tag,
and cringed. "Not that one."

"Come on, it's a splurge. Don't you know what this
party is really for? Every Christmas the owner of the
station flies into town so we can have a party, which
gives us an excuse to buy a new dress. It's tradition."

Christie shook her head, and Yvonne looked at her
with dawning sympathy. She must have remembered
that Christie was on an overnight disc jockey's salary.

"Come over here," Yvonne said, taking her arm. "I
just remembered where we should both be looking."

At the back of the store was a single, round clearance rack. Christie started to flip her way through the
mixture of styles and sizes without much hope. And
then she saw it. It was dark green velvet, with skinny
little shoulder straps.

"That's a perfect color for you," Yvonne said from
over her shoulder.

"And it's a Christmas color. Evergreen." She held
her breath and fumbled in the lining for the size. It
was right. Then she found the markdown price tag,
and she gasped. "Twelve-fifty?" she whispered, afraid
a salesperson would hear her and realize the mistake.

"Slow down." Yvonne adopted Christie's hushed
tones. "There must be a catch."

They searched until they found it: About one foot
of the hem was unstitched. Christie was no seamstress,
but even she could fix that. She hurried to the dressing
room to try it on before anyone at the store could come
to their senses.

When she stepped out a few minutes later, Yvonne
said, "Oh, Christie, that's you. "

Christie looked in the mirror with some surprise.
Her hair had just recently grown to shoulder length;
its deep auburn shade made the perfect contrast to the
rich green fabric. The dress' simple style made the
most of her slim figure. It looked right and it felt right.
She tried to reconcile the image in front of her with
the skinny, mousy teenager she'd been just a few years
ago. Something had happened, and she wasn't sure
what or when.

Christie knew she wanted to look good for all the
wrong reasons. Rick would be there, but so what? If
she got involved with him-assuming he wanted to
get involved with her-she could kiss her job goodbye. Still, being around him had a way of making her
forget that. Going back to her regular overnight shift this week may have been a comedown, but it had been
just in the nick of time.

"See?" Yvonne was saying. "With that dress, a little
more makeup, and some spangly earrings ..."

She'd be all dressed up, with no one to dress up
for.

The party was being held at the Santa Moreno Inn.
It was an old Spanish mission, renovated into a hotel
with banquet facilities. A little shopping district had
grown up around it. It was a well-known local landmark, but Christie had never been inside before.

She walked through the inn's courtyard, with mossgrown stone walls and large cherubs looking down at
her from archways above. Christmas lights were
strung everywhere, most of them white. Christie
slowed to admire them, appreciating the holiday feel.
She had Christmas decorations up all over her apartment, although she still needed to get a tree.

Cocktails at six, dinner at eight, the memo had said.
She walked into the banquet room just after six-thirty
and immediately decided she'd arrived too early. The
room was still sparsely populated, with about fifteen
people milling around the half-dozen or so tables. She
didn't spot anyone she knew, and no one had sat down
yet. Christie felt like a ship without an anchor. She
certainly didn't need an hour and a half for cocktails.

A waiter stopped in front of her with a tray of wine
glasses and waited expectantly. She picked one up,
and he moved on.

She sidled toward the long banquet table laid out
with appetizers, and tried to decide who all these peo ple were. Advertising sales reps, mostly, she guessed,
and probably some office staff as well. She didn't
spend much time on that side of the building, and the
reps were usually out on sales calls. Christie picked
up a tiny plate and started debating between the different colors of cheese squares.

"Welcome to the party," said a voice to her left.
She looked up to see Ed Arboghast beaming brightly
at her. "How's the job going?"

It was the closest she'd been to him since the day
she'd first interviewed there. She glimpsed him sometimes in the hallway, going to or from his office, but
she still wasn't sure what he did there. She wondered
if he'd picked up more weight, lost more hair, or if
her memory had simply failed her.

"It's great," she said. Best pay cut I ever took, she
thought, but decided it wouldn't sound right.

Mr. Arboghast introduced her to his wife, a pleasant
middle-aged woman, while Christie politely sipped her
wine. She didn't care much for wine and liked red
even less, but it gave her something to do with her
hands.

"Try the shrimp," Mr. Arboghast smiled. "It's really
good." And he tottered off.

More people had arrived, and the noise level in the
room was starting to come up. Christie was turning
back toward the table, in search of the recommended
shrimp, when Rick walked in.

It wasn't just the way he looked in a coat and tie,
so soon after Christie had said she'd seen enough suits
to last a lifetime. It wasn't just the way the rich gray
of the suit matched the color of his eyes, or the care he'd taken tonight to replace his hair's usual appealing, tousled look with an appealing, smooth look.

It was the look in his eyes when he saw her, from
twenty feet away, that floored her. He'd picked her
out instantly, just a few steps into the room. His first,
undisguised reaction told her plainly that he liked what
he saw. To compound the effect, he didn't look away,
and Christie felt a dangerous spark somewhere in the
vicinity of her heart.

All the song lyrics she'd ever heard about eyes
meeting across a crowded room stopped being cliches.
She had to catch her breath. And she had to do it
quickly, because now he was walking straight toward
her.

Only to be intercepted by Mr. Arboghast, who led
him to a silver-haired, black-suited man she'd never
seen before. The station's owner, no doubt.

Christie looked away, feeling like a deer rescued
from the headlights of an approaching car. Suddenly,
she could move again. She took another sip from her
glass and instantly felt sorry she had. A warm, queasy
feeling took hold, and all at once the room felt very
loud and very crowded.

She looked down at her glass. The wine was nearly
half gone. Idiot. She hadn't had anything to eat since
lunch, and she'd never gotten hold of any of the appetizers. Her queasiness grew. Christie set the glass
down on the banquet table and quickly headed outside
for some air.

She stepped into the courtyard and was hit by the
shock of the cool, damp night around her. Christie
inhaled deeply and found it did wonders. The fresh, earthy scent reminded her of a recent rain, but it was
probably just the moisture from the abundance of
plants out here.

The quiet was refreshing, too. Christie wandered
down a walkway that led away from the main hotel
complex, toward a wooden bridge over a small pond.
Across the bridge, the walkway continued toward the
shops. Christie stopped on the bridge and leaned her
arms on the waist-high rail to look down into the water. Much better, if a little chillier. She'd checked her
coat when she arrived in the banquet room; she rubbed
her bare arms against the light breeze.

Her brief wooziness cleared, and her thoughts went
back to what was waiting for her inside the banquet
room. She had to be careful. That look from Rick had
thrown her off balance, and she couldn't afford to
make a fool of herself tonight. Anything beyond
friendship was out of the question, and he knew that
as well as she did. She'd probably imagined that look
on his face, or misread it. He'd probably been coming
over to tell her that her slip was showing or something.

She looked down at the dress. What a waste. She'd
spent an unusual amount of time-for her-getting
ready tonight, fussing with her hair and makeup. She'd
tried to tell herself she wanted to make a good impression on everyone, certainly not Rick in particular,
but she knew better.

And for what? To remind herself she shouldn't be
thinking about Rick at all.

A footstep on the bridge interrupted her thoughts.
"Christie?"

No point in pretending she didn't know that voice. Christie looked up without surprise, as if she'd expected Rick to show up all along. She'd have to have
a talk with the back of her mind about these little
fantasies. They seemed to have a way of coming true.

"Are you all right?" he said as he reached her. "You
looked a little green when you walked out."

He'd been flanked by two executive types. How
could he have possibly seen her walk out? Yet, obviously he had.

"I'm okay. I just needed some air. The wine hit me
all of a sudden."

He frowned. "That doesn't sound like you."

"It's not. I had half a glass. It hit my stomach, not
my head." She laughed. "I'm not very used to it."

"Plus the fact that you weigh about five pounds."
He leaned sideways against the rail, studying her. Always that relaxed posture, always those watching eyes.
"Sure you're okay?"

"Fine. It's nice out here."

Rick nodded. "Very nice." He glanced at his watch.
"Want to walk for a little bit? I've already schmoozed
the boss and the owner."

It sounded harmless enough, or so she told herself.
It also sounded a lot more appealing than going back
inside to mingle. "Sure."

Rick pointed them down the other side of the
bridge, away from the hotel. She said, "I'm surprised
none of the other jocks are here yet."

"Yvonne got here a minute ago. Rob's probably
picking up his date."

"He's bringing a date?"

"I think so. He's the only one who ever does."

It hadn't occurred to Christie before that none of
the disc jockeys were married. Of course, Rick had
been, once. She decided to leave that subject alone
tonight.

They passed under a lattice woven with climbing
plants. "This is a beautiful place." Hadn't she said that
already? "They really went all out."

"Trade," Rick said.

"What?"

"Station trade. That's how they paid for this party.
You'll be hearing a slew of commercials soon. It's a
lot cheaper than real money."

"Cynic."

"Just the truth. I cut the commercial myself this afternoon."

"That's no reason not to enjoy it."

"I didn't say I wasn't enjoying it." His eyes were
on her again. There was a warm note in his voice, and
Christie felt it like a physical touch. She realized she'd
unintentionally been walking closer to Rick, as if the
space between them didn't belong there. She widened
the distance, and reached up to snap one of the little
pink flowers from the latticework overhead. "Look,"
she said. "Bougainvillea."

"Gesundheit."

They reached the cobblestone block of shops. Christie was about to suggest turning around, but a window
display of Christmas decorations caught her eye, and
she hurried forward. One Victorian angel with a trumpet reminded her of the tree-topper her mother used to
put on the tree all the years Christie was growing up. She'd given it to Christie before she moved away to
Colorado.

"Have you decorated your place yet?" she asked
when Rick caught up to her.