Chances Are (6 page)

W
hen morning came, Dione was tense and groggy from her nightmare-filled sleep. Her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed and her body was sluggish like a clogged drain. She moved through the apartment in slow motion trying to get her rhythm going.

Since she wouldn't have time to go home and change before her meeting with Garrett, she took extra special care with her choice of clothing, and to hide the circles under her eyes, she even wore a hint of makeup, something she rarely did.

Standing in front of the full-length mirror, that was attached behind her bedroom door, she assessed the impression she would make. Not too business, but not too casual, she concluded turning from side to side, the magenta coatdress projected just the right impression.

She sighed, wondering again why it was so important what Garrett Lawrence thought. She sipped her coffee, the second cup of the morning. This meeting was about coming to some common goals and hopefully steering his way of thinking into a more positive direction. But about what, she asked herself. Her, or Chances Are?

For years she'd been plagued by what others thought of her. About who and what she was. It had become exceedingly important that she represent what could be achieved.

And she had achieved. She had shattered the stereotypes, but at what cost? There was still a part of her that refused to acknowledge the ugly truth of her life. The isolation and loss she felt. As a result, she'd become an overachiever, hoping somehow to fill the voids in her soul with external successes.

She turned away from the telling reflection. This wasn't about her. It was about saving her business, saving those girls who had no one else. And as she always had done, she tucked her personal feelings into that dark corner of her heart where they couldn't be reached.

 

“Mmm. Don't you look jazzy today. A little tired, but jazzy,” Brenda commented when Dione arrived at work. “Love that dress.”

“Thanks.” Dione hung up her coat.

“Special occasion?” she hedged.

“I'm having a business dinner with Mr. Lawrence this evening—to iron out some details,” she added, catching the arched eyebrow expression.

“I'm sure he'll be impressed.”

Dione flashed her a look. “It's business, Bren. That's it.”

“Fine. Don't get bent out of shape. But he is a good-looking brother. I know I wouldn't mind sitting across a table from him.” She turned to her computer and began typing.

Dione hesitated a moment, debating whether to open up the subject, then decided; why not?

“Brenda?”

“Hmm?”

“What are your impressions of him?”

Brenda swiveled in her chair in Dione's direction. “Honestly?”

“Of course.”

“Well—” She blew out a breath. “Besides being drop-dead fine, I think he has a chip on his shoulder and some serious issues about teen mothers. My only concern is how that is going to affect his slant on our program.”

Dione nodded. “I have the same feeling,” she replied thoughtfully.

“Hey, if anybody can convert him, you can.”

“That remains to be seen. But it's definitely my intention.”

“I was going to hold this tidbit of information, but you may as well know. I got a call this morning from the Slattery Foundation.”

Dione could tell she didn't want to hear what Brenda had to say. “Tell me why they don't want to give us any funding,” she said already resigned to the outcome.

“The contribution's chairwoman said that the Foundation wants to move away from programs that intentionally or inadvertently support dependency.”

“Support dependency! How can they say that? Our entire goal is to get these girls self-sufficient so they
won't
be dependent on a system that's set up for them to fail. Brenda the narrow-mindedness just turns my stomach.” Her face twisted in anger.

“I know. I felt like jumping through the phone and smacking some sense into her.”

Dione could have laughed if she wasn't so angry. She could just about see Brenda doing something like that. “I guess this is even more reason to make this thing work.”

“For sure.”

Dione ran her fingers through her hair, which she'd decided to wear down today instead of in her standard ponytail. “I'll be downstairs. Any other developments I need to know about before I bury myself in paperwork?”

Brenda pulled out the sheet from the previous night's activities that Betsy completed. “Nothing major. Gina's baby was running a slight fever. She's taking her to the doctor today. I think she's teething, personally. Umm, Theresa set off the smoke detector again. One of these days that girl is going to figure out that the smoke detector is not a food timer.” They both laughed. “Denise lost her front door key. I'll see about having it replaced. That's about it.”

“Okay. Just hold off on replacing Denise's key. This is the second one she's lost in less than a month.”

“Will do,” Brenda said, amazed at the tiny details that Dione always remembered no matter how many really important things she had to deal with.

“I'll be downstairs.”

 

Dione spent the better part of the morning reviewing the pit Chances Are was sinking into. She felt like the unfortunate captain of the
Titanic.
Disaster everywhere, help on the horizon but not close enough. Abandon ship, or wait to be rescued?

She turned on her computer and pulled up the database of funders, seeing whom she may have missed, knowing she hadn't missed anyone.

There had to be a better way, she mused. The hoops that organizations had to go through to receive funding in order to survive, in order to provide basic human services was sadistic. Yet the government wouldn't bat an eye to pay thousands of dollars for a toilet seat, or a screw. There was something obscene about that.

She stared at the list of names and addresses projected against the screen. Christmas was less than three months away. A difficult time for all of them because of their situations. She always tried to make the holidays extra special for the girls and their kids because of that. The last thing she wanted to have to do was tell them they had to start making preparations to leave.

Her intercom buzzed.

“Yes, Bren?”

“It's Mr. Lawrence for you,” she said in a ha, ha tone.

Dione frowned. “Thanks.” She pressed the yellow button. “Mr. Lawrence.”

“Hi. I'm sure you're busy, but I'm hoping you're not.”

She laughed. “Really. Why is that?”

“It just so happens that I'm free for the rest of the afternoon and I was hoping I could tear you away from what you were doing. You could come by the studio—work out the details of the PSA and then we could go to dinner.”

Her eyes widened. This was beginning to sound more like a date than a business meeting by the minute. Did she really want that? What would they have to talk about?

What in the world was he doing? He wasn't quite sure where the idea had come from. He'd been thinking about her all morning and anticipating seeing her later. That much he knew. Then all of a sudden he was dialing her number and asking her to cut her day short and spend the time with him. Now listening to the nothingness that separated them, he was beginning to feel like a real dope. And what must she be thinking?

“Sounds great. I need to get out of here. Maybe a change of environment would be just the thing I need.”
There, she'd said it. She'd stuck her big toe across the invisible line.

The cobra-like grip that had wrapped around his insides from the moment he'd put his finger on the telephone buttons, seemed to begin to unwind, release him, letting him take a deep breath.

“Whenever you're ready, I'll be here.”
Did he sound like he was grinning?

“I'll see you in about an hour.”

“See you then.” Slowly he hung up the phone and immediately wondered what he'd done.

Dione stared at the phone, her stomach doing tiny somersaults.
You know good and well that you have enough work to keep you busy until after the new year.
And the last thing she needed to do was spend any unnecessary time with Garrett Lawrence. What she needed to use now was her head, not relying on the suddenness of emotions that he'd somehow stirred up inside her, which seemed to be leading her down a path she spent most of her time avoiding.

Garrett Lawrence was not different from the rest. She'd already seen as much. But there was that something else she'd seen as well. Something that he kept buried beneath his attitude, leather jacket and baseball cap. That was the flame that drew her.

She didn't want to get burned.

For a moment she shut her eyes, then she opened her desk drawer, took out her purse and went upstairs.

“I'm going to be out of the office for the rest of the afternoon, Brenda,” Dione said reaching for her coat. “I'll call in for messages.”

Brenda watched Dione do anything she could not to look her right in the eye. “Everything okay?”

“Yes. I'm going to the studio—and then from there, dinner.” Oh, God she felt so silly. It was infantile to feel this truckload of guilt. But she'd felt that way for years. Guilty for ever wanting anything for herself. Even if it was just sometimes.

“Enjoy yourself.”

Dione looked at Brenda who gave her a soft smile of encouragement.

“Thanks. Page me if you need me.”

“Let's hope I don't. I'm sure we can handle whatever comes up.”

“Okay, then. But you know you can if you have to. See you in the morning.” Dione slipped on her coat and turned to leave.

“Dee—”

“Hmm?”

“Forget about this place. At least for a little while.”

Dione gave a half smile and walked out.

On the entire twenty-minute drive over to the studio, Dione vacillated between heading back, and meeting Garrett as planned. A premonition, as certain as the ache in Betsy's knees when rain was coming, had settled in her center. This meeting was the start of something. She knew it as sure as she knew her name.

But she had to stay focused. She had an agenda, and that was to get beyond Garrett's stereotypical mentality so that the project would be a success. That was it, first and foremost. She couldn't be dissuaded by dimpled smiles, manly scents, a crooning voice and husky laughter.

A shiver ran through her when the sudden recollection of his warm breath had caressed her neck and his fingertips had brushed her shoulders.

A horn blared behind her. She looked up and realized she'd been sitting at a green light. Shaking her head she pulled out across the intersection.
This was not good.

 

“Hot coals under your feet or something, brother?” Jason asked from across the studio floor as he adjusted one of the three cameras.

Garrett halted his pacing and looked at his friend.
Busted.
“Can't a man walk and think in this place or what?”

Jason's mouth twisted in a grin. “Must be heavy. You've been burning a hole in the floor for the past ten minutes.”

Garrett stuck his hands in his pockets and blew out a breath. How could he explain what was going on inside of him? Although he and Jason were tight, and had been for a while, Jason didn't know everything. Not about his beginnings, the kind of life he'd led and why. He'd never been able to share that with anyone. Jason just thought of him as the consummate playboy, “the man,” with a three-hundred-and-sixty-five day assortment of women. None of whom mattered to him beyond the moment.

But as quick as a pop of your fingers to the beat, Dione had crept under his skin. Although her very existence, what she represented smacked him square in the face with his own reality, she also awakened the human side of him that had been dormant for longer than he could remember.

“This may sound…strange, but this meeting, dinner thing with Dione has me kind of on edge.” He sneaked a peek at Jason to see his reaction.

“It happens to all of us, man. Even you.” He looked across the room at Garrett. “There's always that one woman who makes you kind of crazy for no apparent reason. Maybe she's the one. You can't analyze it like a storyboard for a television script. You'll make yourself nuts. Just go with it.”

“Is that how it happened with you and Tricia?”

Jason let out a short laugh. “It was more like getting hit over the head with a brick. First time I saw her, I knew it was over for me.” He shook his head. “Still don't understand it.”

Garrett smiled. Even though Jason talked a good game with women, Garrett knew Jason was devoted to his wife of five years. It had never been like that when he married Gayle. His reasons had nothing to do with stars exploding in front of his eyes. It had more to do with hoping he could find something he'd been looking for all his life, someone to care about him. His problem had been he didn't know how to care back. And as much as he was beginning to think he wanted to see where things could go with Dione, he still didn't know if he was capable of returning to her or to anyone, the one thing that he needed himself: love.”