Something About You (Just Me & You) (20 page)

“I made a brief trip out of state.” His voice was cool. “I
took a cab directly to the station after I flew in this morning. Why do you
ask? Did you miss me?”

“Desperately,” she said without enthusiasm. He wore jeans
and a plain white T-shirt in need of a good bleaching, and his hair was so long
he could have pulled it back in a ponytail. That he looked so sexy without
exerting any effort at all annoyed her even more.

“I just got back from Molly and Sebastian’s house,” he went
on.
Here we go
, Sabrina thought with resignation. “Apparently, the drama
that transpired over lunch has Molly walled up in the bedroom with a big bowl
of microwave popcorn and a box of Kleenex.”

“So you know.”

“Yeah, I know. Molly’s going to have a baby.”

Why did it sting just as much to hear it from Gage’s lips?
“Molly’s irrational,” Sabrina said. “I can’t speak for your friend, Sebastian.
Can you?”

“Look, they’re two dumb kids in love.” Gage hoisted one of
the poles onto the lathe. “Correction: two really big kids who should have
known better. But because they’re in love, they gave themselves latitude to do
something extremely rash.”

“‘Rash’ is drunk-texting ex-lovers and uploading nude
pictures to the Internet.” Sabrina’s voice rose. “Molly getting pregnant goes
far beyond that pale. And please don’t tell me we’re actually on the same
side.”

“The hell if we aren’t.” Gage stopped what he was doing to
look at her sharply. “If my wife had multiple sclerosis like Molly, I’d take a
vow of chastity before I got her knocked up, intentionally or otherwise. And
you, Sabrina, are one of the most logical creatures on two heels. You’ve probably
done your own risk-benefit analysis and know that having mommy in a wheelchair —
or worse, mommy not being around at all — isn’t fair to anyone, especially
a kid. But
I’m
not Sebastian, and
you’re
not Molly. Neither one
of us said, ‘Hey, rock on!’ when we heard the news. But there is a kinder way
to express concern.”

“So how did you do it?” Sabrina asked.

“I grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge, sat Sebastian
down on the porch and let him talk about the ‘what ifs.’ You, on the other
hand, broke Molly’s heart today.”

Lessons in tact from Gage Fitzgerald were the last thing
Sabrina needed right now. Now he was looking at her with guarded eyes as though
she were one of those loathsome people who abandoned their pets at kill
shelters.

“Yeah? Well, maybe she broke mine, too,” she exploded
passionately. “If something happened to Molly, if she ended up in a chair or
even worse—” She didn’t want to speak the unspeakable. “—I can’t lose Molly. I
just can’t.” She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “Why am I telling you all
this?”

“Good question.” He arched a brow. “The person you should be
talking to is Molly.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.” Right now all Sabrina
wanted was to be away from everyone.

“Sabrina?”

“What?” She paused, her hand on the doorknob.

“I’d suggest you do it now before the cut goes deeper,” Gage
said, only there was no condescension in his voice.

Sabrina sat at the small kitchen table and shoveled her meal
into her mouth without tasting a thing. It was only ten o’clock. Molly would
still be cutting things up in the sewing room while Sebastian graded his
students’ essays. Sabrina retrieved her cell phone from her purse and accessed
her frequently called numbers:
Mom
,
Capitol Hell
and
Molls
.
Her finger paused over the last entry before she put the phone down.

Molly would forgive her. Molly always did. It wasn’t as
though they’d never fought. Sabrina thought back to their thirteenth year when
they’d gone to the same summer camp. Molly had gotten bent out of shape when
Sabrina innocently befriended an eighteen-year-old camp counselor. Molly had
insisted his motives were less than savory. Sabrina had refused to listen. This
had ultimately led to a two-week standoff when they spoke to each other only to
call dibs on the shower.

Then when the counselor shoved his tongue down Sabrina’s
throat behind the boathouse after the Fourth of July fireworks display, she had
run back to the dorm room, humiliated. Molly had consoled her and never once
exercised gloating rights. She and Molly then agreed to keep things hush-hush.
But for the next four days until camp ended, Molly had stuck with her like a
cocklebur, guarding her protectively every time the counselor came around.

There had been other silly sisterly quibbles over the years.
This time it felt different.
Irrevocable.
The thought of ever facing
Molly again was so daunting as to feel impossible. Sabrina went to her computer
desk.

From: sabrina@lascasadimarch…

To: molly@lechateauduparker…

Subject: …

Dear Molls,

Sometimes when I can’t sleep at night, I imagine the far
future. I see you and me puttering around in the same assisted living center
when we get old, playing bingo (we always win — go us!) and complaining
about the fried fish dinner (Fridays were made for pizza). You finally teach me
to quilt (even though I’m really bad at it) while Sebastian works on the tenth
revision of his memoirs. I believe that future can happen.

What if that’s no longer so—?

I know you’re going to be a great mother, Molly. If
there’s one woman on this great blue planet who deserves that honor, it’s you.
I want you to have a lot of children. I want your daughter (or son) to call me
‘Aunt Brini.’ Gage says—

Sabrina stopped typing. She
contemplated the words on the screen for several minutes before clicking
“cancel.”

This isn’t the way.

She went through her nightly ritual of rubbing moisturizer
into her face and lotion into her arms and legs. Then she climbed into bed
wearily. Her mind went through various scenarios that might result from Molly’s
pregnancy. Sabrina tried to be optimistic. But at the end of each scenario,
there was no happy ending.

“We close up shop at two.” Theo popped his head into the
Think Tank early Friday morning. “I figured you’d need a little primp time
before the gala tonight, Chief. I noticed you didn’t give me your RSVP. Still
just one?” 

Sabrina looked at her fingers, which were stained with
copier toner. “Still one,” she told him.

“Gotcha.” Theo looked a little uncomfortable. “Ah, just so
you’ll have the heads up, Sprinkle’s attending.”

“You could have let me know before this morning, Theo.”
Sabrina tried to sound collected. A face-to-face encounter with Jackson was
precisely what she wanted to avoid, even if it was only a one-off.

“I can’t scratch the Tide Brothers’ lead counsel from the
guest list just because you gave back his letter sweater.” Theo shrugged.
“Bring a date if you’re so worried about running into Sprinkle. Isn’t that what
you women usually do? Tell you what,” he said, a sudden gleam in his eyes. “I’ll
put you down for a plus one just in case something pans out.”

Theo didn’t know what he was talking about, Sabrina decided
after he went back into his office. Even if she could scare up an escort within
a period of twelve hours, certain logistics were involved. A tux needed to be
rented and prior engagements cancelled. No one was that spontaneous.

No one except maybe …

Sabrina leaned over her desk and shot a covert look through
the doorway. She could see Carlton nattering on the phone at the receptionist’s
desk. Moira had made a run to the library, leaving Sabrina alone. She turned on
the radio and twisted the volume knob down low.

“—which is why social networking sites are for pussies,
man,” Gage was saying. “How many sad souls will be hunkered behind laptops
tonight hoping they’ll find the love of their lives playing fu— effin’ ‘Mafia
Wars’?”

“Or just trying to find someone to score,” Giggles pitched
in helpfully.

“The answer is: I don’t know, friends. However, I do know
one pussy who’s about to find out what happened to Lacey Adams. Pass me your
laptop, Gideon. Are you logged onto this thing, this … whassit, Facebook?
Dumbass name for a social networking site,” he muttered.

“So Lacey spun your top, dude?”

“Only in my dreams,” Gage said. “She was the only chick in
high school who never let me get to third base. The rest of ’em? Hell, it was
Bunk, Iowa. Small-town girls get bored, too.”

“Awesome, dude. Just type the name in the ‘search’ field and …
yeah!”

“Well, hot damn,” Gage said with delight a few seconds
later. “Lacey Adams, Walden, Iowa. Status: ‘It’s complicated.’ What does that
mean? She still has great top action going on. Hell, yeah, I’ll ‘Add as
Friend’.”

Sabrina groaned as she pushed the filing cabinet shut. She
still had days when she couldn’t believe Gage got paid to flap his gums.

“Let’s search for somebody else.” He sounded more enthused.
“Lessee, S-A-B-R-I … ”

“Dude,” Giggles breathed in awe. “That’s her?
That’s
the CHB?”

“No, no, no!” Sabrina wailed as she scrambled to her
computer. She couldn’t believe that those two overgrown frat boys were ogling
her Facebook profile. She quickly accessed the site and logged in. Who could
predict what mockery Gage would make of her Osho quote?

“Cleans up nice, doesn’t she?” Gage asked. “Tell you what,
she’s got a mouth on her. But she’s a go-getter. I’d put her in the driver’s
seat anytime.”

“Over Lacey Adams?” Giggles queried.

“Lacey had backseat privileges only.”

Smartass.
Sabrina typed a new status update
rapid-fire and clicked on “Share.”

“Whoa-
ho
!” he crowed. “‘Sabrina is listening to every
word you say, Fitzgerald.’ Hi, roomie.”

“Howdy!” Giggles giggled. “Fitz wasn’t kidding. You’re
hawt
.”

She rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

Her next thought was unconscionable.

“I can’t believe I’m actually thinking about doing this,”
she muttered aloud, retrieving her cell phone from her messenger bag. She
reminded herself that Theo’s gala was strictly A-list, attracting nouveau riche
and Texas bluebloods alike. So prestigious was the privilege of attending that
women made special trips to safety deposit boxes to retrieve their insurable
jewelry.

There would also be dancing. And dancing meant that close
physical contact would be involved …

Apparently, Carlton heard “Fitz and Giggles” playing on the
radio, for he dipped his head over his desk and into her line of vision, pulled
his eyebrows into an arc and gave her one of his
woo-woo
stares.

“Absolutely
not
,” Sabrina mouthed back at him.
Carlton gave a resigned shrug and popped back out of view.

She was still staring at the cell phone display after the
show ended.

**

“You’re an FCC violation just waiting to happen, dude,”
Gideon chuckled as he took off his earphones. “The Powers That Be are going to
have their tails in a twist. That’s the third time you almost dropped the
F-bomb this week.”

“Almost doesn’t count,” Gage said nonchalantly. He retrieved
the
migas
tacos he’d stashed in the studio’s mini-fridge, which was
brimming with containers of salsa, energy drinks and beer, and tossed the bag
in the microwave. “What are they doing to do? Fire me?”

“You? Not remotely,” Gideon said. “You’re golden around
here. If I were you, I’d be more worried about the little lady at home. You’re
just begging to be sleeping with the automobiles, aren’t you, Fitzgerald?”

Gideon had a good point. Gage thought for sure that
morning’s irreverent banter would inspire another punchy phone call from the
House of Representatives, but it hadn’t. That could only mean one of two
things.

Either Maid March hadn’t been listening to the show, or she
was plotting her revenge more carefully this time.

With any luck, he’d be done with his power sleep and out of
the house before she got home from work. And with even better luck, she’d have
bigger fish to fry. Gage could tell by the way she’d incessantly pushed hangers
around in the hall closet and whipped various dresses out to inspect them the
night before that she was going to dress to impress.

Could Sabrina finally be going out on a date?

God help the poor sap if she were. Whoever he was, he didn’t
stand a chance. Gage thought of the way she’d sauntered up to him in that
barely-there get-up, running her hand around her neck slowly. She’d given him
the barest breeze of a force to be reckoned with. That kind of pent-up sexual
energy eventually had to go somewhere. Or in this case, to
someone
.
Sabrina had cunningly demonstrated to whom it wasn’t.

Him. 

Gage was about to leave through the station’s front
entrance. Fortuitously, he had the presence of mind to peer through the windows
of the call center and spot the station manager stalking down the hall in the
direction of the studio, a stern look on his face. Not in the mood for another
dressing-down, Gage ducked into a side corridor and left through the emergency
exit. He had just pulled into the drive of the Corners house when he heard the
customized ringtone. He smiled as Papa Roach’s “She Loves Me Not” blasted out
of the tinny speaker of his cell phone.
Took her long enough.

“That wasn’t quite as posthaste as I expected,” he said into
the phone. “I suppose I don’t need to ask what you’re calling about. I stalked
your pretty ass on a social networking site.”

“Hey, it’s a free country,” Sabrina said in a breezy voice.
“First Amendment? Freedom of speech? That’s some good stuff. Actually, I called
to give you a heads up about something.”

“Shoot,” he said carefully.

“You’re escorting me to Theo’s charity gala tonight.”

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

“Not exactly,” she said. “I’m telling you you’re going to
be
my date. There’s a big difference.”

Not in my world, honey.

“Something tells me I shouldn’t ask you to qualify that
response,” Gage laughed, prompting silence on the other end of the line.

“The gala is at the Driskill Hotel,” Sabrina went on. “It’s
one of those ‘see and be seen’ types of events. You’ve probably never been to
one before.”

Gage in fact had, but he was distracted by the timbre of her
voice. It had taken on a husky, aloof purr that reminded him of her hands
sliding down his jacket. 

“You don’t say,” he prompted her conversationally. “Go on.”

“It’s a formal event. Black coat, black tie.”

“Yeah, I know the drill. So tell me something. How exactly
does one pass time at one of these things?” He grinned as he reached for the
package of
migas
tacos that were growing cold on the seat beside him. It
amused him that Sabrina confused Fitz’s simple, homeboy sensibilities with his
own.

He wasn’t about to enlighten her. At least not yet.

“It’s a ball,” she explained. “So you dance and make polite
conversation about how nice the band sounds.”

“So what do I get out of the deal?” Gage peeled back the
aluminum wrapper.

“Good drinks. Fine food. You can tell your friends, ‘I went
to Representative Ward’s gala ball.’ It’s quite an honor to get invited,” she
reminded him.

“Ah, finally: A chance to see how the better half lives.” He
injected mock gratitude into his voice. “Why should I do you this particular
‘favor’ anyway?”

Gage took a bite of taco. He could hear her tapping her pen
on her desk on the other end of the line while he chewed. 

“Because you owe me —
Fitz
,” she finally hissed.
“If my life is fodder for your ridiculous show, I expect a little reciprocity.”

“Doesn’t sound like you’re giving me a choice.”

“I’m not.” Her voice was suddenly clear, sweet and hard. “As
far as I’m concerned, I own you for the next twelve hours, Fitzgerald. I
suggest you catch up on your beauty sleep before tonight.”

“You win, honey,” he said wearily. “I suppose I should get
the car detailed.”

“No need to go that far,” Sabrina told him quickly. “Just
meet me at the Driskill at eight.”

Gage stared at his phone after she hung up and gave sleep a
passing ponder. So Sabrina intended to use him to impress her poncy Capitol
crowd, did she? He could hear the underscore in her voice when she mentioned
that the event required formal attire. As though he never would have guessed.
He ran a hand through his shaggy mane, then over two days’ worth of stubble.
He’d crammed his tuxedo into one of his suitcases before the move, and his
dress shoes needed more than a spit shine.

He tossed the taco bag aside and revved up the GTO.

This sap had serious errands to run if he wanted to give
Maid March a night to remember.