2
“Y
OU AND STEPHANIE have plans for the weekend?” Craig asked.
“We're putting in new shrubs.”
Jim Scott, known affectionately as Scotty, had dropped by to return a movie. He channel-surfed while he waited for Craig to finish dressing.
Over the years the two men had flown together often, Jim as first officer for Sparrow Airlines and Craig as pilot. They'd developed a close friendship.
Scotty was married. So happily married he thought everyone else should be. Consequently, he was a pain about the subject to his single friends, especially Craig Stevens.
“Who did you say you were going out with tonight?” he asked.
“Nina Jennings.”
“Cute.” Scotty paused the remote on HBO and watched for a moment. “Dinner?”
Craig nodded.
Glancing at his watch, Scotty frowned. “Saturday night starts early with you. It's only three.”
“I have a few errands to run before I pick up Nina.”
“You don't sound very excited about the prospect.”
Frowning, Craig redid his tie. “Frankly, I wish I hadn't made the date.”
“You're getting too set in your ways. Look at you, you've got your âdating' clothes on.”
“What's wrong with my clothes?” Craig briefly assessed his image in the mirror. Blue blazer, khaki pants, blue oxford shirt, red-striped tie.
“You dress as if you're on your way to an execution instead of a night on the town.”
“I feel like I'm going to an execution. My own.”
Thirty-two, single and not the least worried about it, he would have preferred to stay home and enjoy a glass of good wine while listening to classical CDs.
Unfortunately, his well-meaning friends didn't believe that he was happy with his marital status. They kept setting him up with matrimonial prospects. For some reasonâprobably some psychological flawâhe kept agreeing to go. It wasn't that he was anti-marriage, just not in any rush to advance the idea. He believed in doing a lot of looking before buying anything, especially a wedding ring. He was the sort of man who kicked the tires, honked the horn and checked the mileage before driving off the lot. He didn't like surprises.
Tonight's goddess du jour was Nina, a computer programmer for the airline. He had met her once, briefly. Before he'd known it, a mutual friend had insisted he ask her out. So here he was, getting ready for a date he didn't want to go on. He was afraid his life was becoming too much like a popular Thursday-evening sitcom.
“Ever been serious about a woman?” Scotty asked.
“Once.”
“Yeah? So what happened?”
“Didn't work out.” Craig stared back at his reflection in the mirror, trying to keep a straight face. Saying that Nancy didn't “work out” was like referring to Hurricane Andrew as a spring shower. Not many people knew about that unfortunate episode in his life.
“Who was she?”
“A girl I met when I first started with Sparrow.”
“What was she like?”
“Like?”
“Well, I mean, this is the only girl I've ever heard you admit you might have been serious about. What was she like?”
“Blond, blue-eyed, great laugh, flight attendant. We had everything in common. I was beginning to think she was the one.”
“And?”
“She wasn't. I woke up and realized I couldn't picture myself sitting across the breakfast table from her every morning. So, I got out of bed and phoned her. Asked her to meet me for breakfast.” He smiled wryly at the memory. “The fact that it was five in the morning didn't help.”
Scotty whistled under his breath. “Did she go ballistic when you broke it off?”
“Full thrust.”
“Bummer.”
“Two days later, she persuaded the super to let her into my apartment. When I got home, I found she'd squashed Preparation H into every piece of furniture I owned.”
“Preparation H?”
“She said it was appropriate, considering.”
Scotty winced. “Ouch.”
“The following week, she broke into my car and ground bananas into the dashboard. It was summer, ninety-five degrees outside, a hundred and ten in the car.”
“Ex from hell.” Scotty shook his head in sympathy.
“Yeah. For the next month the interior of that Ford looked like a Christmas tree, with all those pine-scented air fresheners hanging in it. I finally had to sell it.”
“That was the end of it?”
“No, I had to move and have my phone unlisted. Still, for the next five years, she'd find me and call to remind me what a heel I was.”
“Bitter, huh?”
“Bitter?” Craig laughed hollowly. “I guess you could say that.”
“Heard from her lately?”
“No, actually, I don't know what happened to her, don't want to know.”
“Well, you can't let one bad experience sour you on women.”
Picking up his jacket, Craig smiled. “But then, I don't plan to get into that kind of situation again, either.” He liked his life. He wished his friends could believe that. Why couldn't they understand he liked quiet amusement? Fishing, hiking, going to the library. They were too anxious to get him mated for life. He wanted that. Someday. Just not now.
“Ever think about Temple?”
“Think what about Temple?”
Craig straightened his tie unnecessarily. Think about her? It was hard not to. Temple Burney was gorgeous, had a great sense of humor, had great legs, was a great flight attendant and had great legs. Unfortunately, he hadn't managed to get her to think of him as anything other than a friend. Quite often he had more than friendly feelings toward Temple, but he didn't want to ruin what they had. Could Temple be his Mrs. Right? Shrugging, he shook his head. He'd never convince her.
“About dating her.”
Craig stuffed keys and billfold into his pockets. “We're just friends.”
“Too bad. You two make a great couple.”
“Temple doesn't date pilots.”
“Yeah. What's that all about? Was she burned by one at some time?”
“Not exactly. She's just paranoid about pilots and marriage. She wants to keep work and pleasure separate.”
“I don't get it.”
“Her father was a pilot in Nam,” he explained. “His plane was shot down during the Tet offensive in '68. He's been MIA for the past twenty-seven years. Her mother didn't handle it well and it's made Temple pilot-shy.”
“Too bad.”
Craig shrugged into his jacket. “Well, she may not date pilots, but that doesn't mean she ignores them. She's got a bad case of one-upmanship going with me.”
“The infamous race for the parking space each morning?” Scott couldn't contain his smile.
Craig smiled back. “She's good at lane sharking.” Laughing, Scotty snagged his jacket and followed Craig to the door.
“Hey, why don't you stop by tomorrow night?” Scotty said. “Steph would love to see you. I'll ask her to fix those stuffed pork chops you like.”
For a moment, Craig fantasized about coming home to someone every night who cooked his favorite food, shared his day, slept next to him every night.
“You're on,” Craig said, flipping out the lights and locking the door.
As they started down the stairway of the two-story apartment building, Craig reconsidered his friend's invitation.
“You wouldn't be planning to fix me up with another date, would you?”
Scotty looked wounded. “Would I do that to a friend?”
“Ha! I come for pork chops and get cheesecake every time.”
Scotty dismissed the accusation with a cheerful wave. “See you at seven tomorrow night.”
Â
ACROSS TOWN, Temple opened the door, trying to look friendly.
“Darrell?” Her eyes traveled his length.
Who the hell is this? Did I make a date with this guy?
She'd only had one drink that night. Surely she hadn't been that bombed.
“THAT'S ME, BABE!”
His megaphone voice blasted her back a step.
Darrell, dressed in plaid seat-cover trousers, a hot-pink polo shirt and white patent-leather shoes, grinned back at her. His panama hat with a Hawaiian headband had a plastic pineapple stuck in it. A neon fanny pouch was strapped around his middle.
“YOU'RE TEMPLE!”
At the moment, she wished she was anyone but Temple. Taking another step backward, she managed a weak, “How nice to see you again. Would you like to come in?”
“THANKS, BUT I LEFT THE CAR RUNNING. YOU ABOUT READY?”
Temple reached for her purse, wondering if he had a hearing problem. Her eyes searched for a telltale wire to indicate he had Walkman headphones or a hearing aid in his ear, but there wasn't any.
“HOPE YOU LIKE DOLPHINS!”
“Love them,” she murmured.
“TURNED OUT TO BE A NICE DAY, DIDN'T IT?” Darrell boomed as they walked outside to his car.
Temple waved at Mrs. King watering her flowers.
“THAT LITTLE SHOWER WE HAD EARLIER SCARED ME. THOUGHT IT MIGHT RAIN US OUT!”
Mrs. King dropped her watering can and looked around, startled.
Nodding, Temple cringed. She thought back to when they'd been introduced at the party and remembered that the room had been exceptionally crowded, so much so they had had to shout above the din. At least she'd thought he was shouting.
“HOPE YOU LIKE DOLPHINS!” he repeated as he helped her settle in the passenger side of the car, then walked around to the driver's side and got in.
Looking over, he grinned. “READY?”
Smiling lamely, she nodded. “Ready.”
She noticed that two other neighbors had stopped working in their yards and were looking in their direction.
During the drive, Temple tried to concentrate on the conversation but she kept wincing. Every time Darrell opened his mouth to speak he jacked up the volume.
“YOU DON'T TALK MUCH, DO YOU? WELL, THAT'S ALL RIGHT. I LIKE QUIET WOMEN.” He laughed. “HAR snort HAR snort.”
Temple rolled her eyes. It's happening again.
As the two large, green, concrete dolphins marking the entrance to Mammal World came into view, she had started to think of Darrell as one large, living, breathing megaphone.
One, unfortunately, she was stuck with all afternoon.
“HEY!”
A young couple walking ahead of them whirled to answer. When they saw he was speaking to Temple, not to the park attendant five hundred yards away, they turned back.
“Yes?”
“HERE WE ARE!”
Yes. Here I am.
Mammal World was bustling. Temple and Darrell made their way toward an open-air stadium.
“WANT SOMETHING TO DRINK? IT'S AWFUL HOT!”
Hot? She'd wager hell was cooler than the asphalt parking lot at Mammal World.
“Thanks, a cola would be nice.”
“I'LL GET US ONE!” With that, he walked toward the refreshments stand.
He returned a few minutes later with drinks and snacks. As they elbowed their way into the Dolphin Stadium, she tried to balance the large cola and tub of popcorn Darrell had bought. Someone stepped on her heel and she swallowed a yelp. If pain was an indicator, she was crippled for life.
“YOU HURT?”
Five people turned to see if he was speaking to them.
“No, I'm fine, really.”
“YOU SURE? WANT TO SIT DOWN FOR A MINUTE?”
Six more heads swiveled, looking for the loud voice.
Apologies were hurriedly exchanged. Temple walked on tiptoe with her shoe heel flopping as the mob shoved her through the gates.
Her gaze went immediately to the top rows of seats, out of the blistering sun, but Darrell quickly dashed her hopes.
“I LIKE TO SIT UP CLOSE, IF YOU DON'T MIND.”
He made a beeline for the front row, motioning for Temple to follow.
Snapping open the stadium seat he carried with him, Darrell carefully positioned it on the bleacher and made himself comfortable. Setting aside the popcorn and drink, Temple fished in her purse for a clean tissue and wiped the wet, backless hot-as-hell bench and sat down. Again, she thought back to the party where they'd met. Darrell had seemed so much less...well...irritating.