Spicing Up Trouble: a romantic comedy (7 page)

After setting the bags down on the kitchen table, she reached into the cabinet and got paper plates and napkins. I filled glasses with water.

"Sweetie, close your robe when you're eating. What time did Cobb leave? Before or after you slipped into something revealing."

I cinched the robe tight and sat down.

"Eleanor, please feed me and grill me later."

"Fair enough."

We both ripped through the bags and ate quickly.

"To answer some of your questions, we had lunch, he took me home, kissed me, left, and I had dream sex with him until fifteen minutes ago. What did you do today?" I asked.

"Same old, same old. Wrestled alligators, flew to Jupiter, and solved world hunger."

"Always the overachiever. Do you mind if I play my phone messages?"

"Go ahead." She picked up the garbage and cleared the table.

Beep.
"It's Eleanor; call me."
Beep.
Ten more times, alternating between Irene and Eleanor.
Beep.
"I'm on my way over," Eleanor said.

A final beep.

"Miss Hale, this is Larry Mitchell from
Single Chicago
. I know your interview is next week, but I have an hour or so tomorrow. If you're available in the morning between ten and noon, please call."

"Sharks smell blood. You don't think the picture of me canoodling with Benjamin Nance Cobb has anything to do with it?" I asked.

"You snagged THE single Chicagoan. Of course, it has everything to do with it. What are you going to wear? Be sophisticated, but hip." She hustled me to my closet.

"I think, Ben sorta kinda offered me a job." I remade my bed.

"In your dream or does he consider dating him to be a paid position?" Eleanor rummaged through and found a turquoise wrap dress she made as a sample.

"No, he's looking for an assistant." I stood as she handed me the hangar.

She blinked.

"Who will sleep with him?" I held the dress up to my body as Eleanor fussed over it.

"I guess." I shrugged because I didn't want to think about how bad it sounded.

"Sweetie, there are unpleasant words associated with such arrangements. Talk to the magazine guy, and see what you think. Now, where's your iron?"

"I don't own one, and you're right about the interview. If it doesn't work out, I could work for you or Irene," I said, half kidding.

"I'm fully staffed at the moment. Irene is welcome to you any time. And how can you walk around in wrinkled clothes?"

"Wash and wear suits me, and no one complains."

She tsked and headed back to the closet.

"I have a date with Ben tomorrow night. Guess where he's taking me?" I asked as I stood in closet doorway.

"Reykjavik, Bora Bora, or Casablanca?" She reappeared with another sample dress, this one rose colored and sleeveless. I forgot I had it. I slipped it on and got a nod of approval.

"No, the Reign Bar. Don't tell Irene. I want to surprise her."

"Nothing surprises Irene. She's psychic or a druid. I doubt she reflects in a mirror. Besides, she'll see the name on the reservations list. Can I be there too? I haven't met him yet."

"A group date? He'll think I asked for chaperones."

"With him, you need armed guards. Keep in mind, he's seen you nude. Anything after is tame in comparison. Call Larry, Moe, or Curly for the interview and get some real sleep. Dark circles aren't attractive unless you're a raccoon. No more mythical sex with the artist. Be ready for the interview. Be sharp, you want this job. Wear the wrap and smooth it down. The rose one is for dinner. Call me after it to recap and regroup for your date. Love ya." She hugged me and left.

I listened to Larry's message again. I wrote down the number, called, and left a message to agree to an interview at ten o'clock.

I yawned. Fried food had a narcotic effect on me.

Back to bed, I slid nude under the covers. To sleep, perchance to dream about a mysterious knight, an unemployed damsel, and two beautiful sisters dying of envy.

Across from a bank of windows, I contemplated the Ferris wheel spinning at Navy Pier, and wished I was on it.
Single Chicago
had offices on the thirtieth floor in a building overlooking the Chicago River. I knotted my purse strap in my hands.

No reason to be nervous. After all, Larry called me. He wanted to hire me. All I had to do was name my price. But right now, jobless due to budget cuts and an infamous picture of a shirtless Benjamin Nance Cobb damaged my career opportunities. I remembered being pressed up against him. A live wire igniting passion deep inside me that I didn't know existed.

Take my job, my Malibu Barbie, and my spleen for another kiss.

"Miss Hale," a man said.

"Yes, I'm here."

I shook off the remnants of my illicit thoughts of Ben. Were there any other kind?

"I'm Larry Mitchell. I'm glad you could come on such short notice." He shook my hand.

"No problem. I'm glad you called."

"Let's head for the conference room."

He led me past cubicles and bulletin boards full of pictures and sketches. I caught a few stares and a whisper. As we continued down the hall, the open spaces fell silent.

"Please have a seat. Would you like some coffee or anything?" He opened the door to a conference room.

"Coffee would be great, thanks."

"I'll be right back."

I tended to spill when nervous, but I needed to keep my hands busy. I settled into a chair and drummed my fingers on the table. A folder on the table had the corner of a newspaper sticking out of it. I put my finger on it and pulled it all the way out. The picture of me and Ben.

I picked up the folder and opened it. An internal memo to a Ms. Hutchins had been attached to my resume.

This is the woman at BNC's loft. She has an interview scheduled for next week and would have been a good fit in the lifestyle department. Food and wine recommendations are her specialty. But you promised that job to Cecelia. Of course, if Alexia gets us an interview with Cobb that would mean a blockbuster and puts us in the black for months. Cobb on the cover or a wedding shot, the sky's the limit. Should I call her and get her in tomorrow?
Written across the bottom in bold red letters
Absolutely, Rita Hutchins.

I heard people talking in the hall and shoved everything back in the folder. I tucked it under some more papers. Larry reappeared with a Styrofoam cup in his hand and closed the door. He set it down and sat opposite me.

"I reviewed your resume. You've done impressive work. I read some more articles you wrote on party ideas and even a few restaurant reviews. You are well informed on the diversity of the city. I would love to have you join the staff," he said.

"Don't you want to ask me some questions? Where do I see myself in five years? How can I contribute to the magazine? Who started the Great Chicago Fire?" I asked.

"Your resume speaks for itself. You underestimate your talent."

A week ago, I would have been relieved not to talk. Now, I grew suspicious. I leaned over and tapped the folder in front of him. He paled and slumped his shoulders.

"You overestimate my influence, Mr. Mitchell. Mr. Cobb doesn't grant interviews of any kind. I would never abuse his friendship to further your circulation."

"Alexia, I'm sorry, but Cobb's in huge demand worldwide," he explained.

"I know, but you did want to interview me before the picture in the newspaper. You reviewed my credentials and must have seen something worthy."

"That position has been filled. A former employee moved back into the area and has a huge following on the web."

"So all I have going for me here is a stolen picture of me with Benjamin Nance Cobb." He nodded.

"I believe this concludes our conversation." I unclipped my resume from the memo. "Forget we ever met, Shemp. I know my way out."

I opened the door. People milled around and immediately tried to look busy. I straightened my shoulders and strutted through the busy workroom. At the exit, I acknowledged the crowd.

"I said, 'Hell no!'
"

Too hot to walk, I considered my options. Go home and hide under the covers until Friday. If I took a cab to Eleanor's store and told her, she'd tell Irene who would call and threaten Larry who would be fired for not lying well enough to me. She'd track me down too, may as well get the interrogation over and done.

I found Eleanor in her workroom, hunched over a table, sizing a piece of material. I explained my prospective job's requirements: bring them Ben on a platter. "The dirty son of a bitch knows you're qualified and had planned to interview you next week before your date with infamy.  He's trying to twist you into promising to deliver a Cobb interview," Eleanor said as she cut out a pattern.

"Ben thanked me for not writing about him."

"That's something." She pressed the material and hung it up.

"I hope so, but I wish Larry hadn't mentioned Ben."

"The interviewer is trying to score points with his boss at your expense. I'm never buying
Single Chicago
again," Eleanor said.

"You advertise in it," I said.

"Unfortunately, the boutique's clientele read it, and I renewed my contract with the magazine for the year. Did you iron the rose dress for tonight? I'll be in a cream strapless dress and gold sandals."

"Sounds nice. The rose one is fine. If I owned an iron, I'd probably burn a hole in it."

I reminded Eleanor, when we were in high school, she brought home a bag of remnants from a fabric store. I decided to be helpful and trashed three yards of chiffon with a hot iron.

"Oh, I almost erased the sight and smell from my senses. Sweetie, I'm crashing your date. You need to be stunning. He's seen you with your clothes off, but the package has to be beautiful enough to unwrap again." She unrolled a bolt of grey linen material.

"Eleanor, maybe I prefer to stay attired for a change." I ran my hand over the soft fabric.

"Alexia, if Cobb wants you nude again, he has to work for it. Now I have a new design. My least favorite seamstress, the stubborn old lady from Michigan, just finished it. She does incredible work, but she is damn slow."

She trekked to the rack in the front of the store and lifted up a sapphire blue sleeveless dress, sewn with silver thread. The two colors were interwoven and shimmered in the light. She held it up to me and pointed me toward the full-length mirror.

"Ben said my eyes were like sapphires," I said, sliding my hand over the lush material.

"Perfect. I thought of you when I saw it this morning. It's your size. Go try it on. I'll give you the family discount of returning it tomorrow, sans stains of any kind."

"Eleanor, I hate playing dress up."

"I know, but you haven't had a real date in months. Heaven only knows the last time you got laid."

"Yeah and it ain't talking. Give me the stupid dress." I grabbed the dress and trudged to a dressing room.

"We'll discuss accessories, makeup, and hair when you're done."

"Shoot me now," I said as I struggled with the zipper.

"Later, I promise. I'll go find shoes."

Getting me ready for my trip to Oz took a lot of work. I left with bags and boxes. Goop slopped on my face. It melted in the humidity. I had so much mousse and too many bobby pins in my hair. It had become a solid and will never lay flat again. The heels on the shoes Eleanor chose would make me walk on my toenails. I did like the earrings, though. Eleanor opened her vault and lent me two-carat diamond studs. A gift from one of her many admirers. She had quite a collection of jewelry and men.

Since I ran late, I hailed a cab.

Should I hop into the shower and peel off the face and hair gunk or leave it? Will Ben notice or care? Oh to be a guy. Shower, shave, clean shirt, and out the door.

I arrived home and discovered I had hovering company. A small throng of paparazzi waited in front of my building.

"Would you mind going around the corner?" I asked the cabbie.

"Are you famous or wanted for something?"

"I'm not sure."

He parked on the next street over.

"What do I owe you?" I asked.

"Thirty-five dollars."

"You never saw me." I peeled off the bills and an extra twenty.

"I get that a lot. Good luck, mystery lady. Remember when the cops come, hands on your head, and walk slowly."

"Thanks so much."

I hauled out Eleanor's donations and silently shut the car door. Creeping through the gangway, across the alley, over the fence, down the sidewalk, and in the back of my building, I plastered myself against the closed door.

If this were a movie, music would be playing to build the suspense as I fled from the bad guys. Of course someone would be waiting to jump me in my apartment. I slithered down the hall to the stairs. Being the kickass heroine, I would drop him like a stone. If I had been trained to kill a villain with two fingers.

I hefted the bags, opened the door, and went up the stairs. Back to the wall, I scanned in front and behind me.

Maybe the parasites were here for someone else. Had one of the neighbors won the lottery, or gotten a perfect score on the ACT, or been declared Czarina Anastasia? Or a homicidal maniac hid in the stairwell waiting for a hostage or victim to appear.

I cracked the door, peeked around, and crawled into the hall. The coast declared clear, I sprinted to my apartment. I dropped my keys twice and then finally opened the door.

I should have had a walkie-talkie to call in my coordinates. After checking the perimeter for thugs, I scoped the living room and snuck to my bedroom. The jobless chef had landed, needed a shower, and a few spiked iced teas.

I dropped my packages, shook out of my clothes, scraped off the makeup, pushed my hair into a cap, and jumped into the shower. While toweling off, I heard the phone ring.

"Alexia, I wish I had your cell phone number. Your front door is being staked out by the press hounds," Ben said.

I ran to the bedroom phone, wrapped in a towel, and picked up the receiver.

"Ben, I'm here and I know. I morphed into Ninja Woman and got in the back way."