The Fifth Stage Part 3

22.

23.

"Check in tomorrow. I have to get up in two hours. I'm hanging up now."

"I'll call right back."

I wipe my eyes on the heel of my hand and try to sound awake.

"Okay, okay, what's so important?"

Tonya breathes into the phone, sending a loud crackle of static into my ear. "You need to go out clubbing with me this weekend. You know, mingle, meet the new girls on the block."

"You woke me up for that?" I imagine myself in the smoky limelight at one of the local lesbian hangouts, lined up with dozens of other single women like tin cans on a split-rail fence. One by one, the infamous womanizers about town shoot their best pick-up lines at us till we swoon and topple into their waiting arms.

Right. That'll happen. A chuckle rises in my throat. "You know I haven't been to a bar since... well... since..." The laugh turns into a lump that almost cuts off my air, hanging in my neck like a chicken bone. If it were a bone, I could cough it out and be rid of it. Instead, I have to wait for it to melt and then wonder when it'll show up again.

She huffs another crackle into my ear. "Come on, girl. Get back into the swing of things."

"I'm swinging fine, thank you."

"How long has it been since you've had s.e.x?"

"Kiss my a.s.s!" I give the handset three hard whacks against the nightstand before putting it back to my ear.

"Okay, that hurt. And you know I'd love to kiss your sweet a.s.s, but you won't let me."

"I don't f.u.c.k my friends."

"If you can't f.u.c.k your friends, who can you f.u.c.k?" When I don't reply, she adds, "Anyway, don't even try to tell me you wouldn't do a number on that s.e.xy neighbor of yours if she gave you the go-ahead."

I groan and roll over. Jitterbug slurps at my nose. Her Alpo breath isn't doing my headache any good. "We're not going to rehash my friendship with Elizabeth, are we?"

"Guess not." Tonya softens. "I just thought a night out on the town might be fun."

"I don't know, Fly. I just can't seem to get my s.h.i.t together, you know?"

"Listen, girl, I don't blame you for being scared. h.e.l.l, I've been in the game since high school, and I still get scared sometimes."

This is the side of Tonya that few people know: the gentle lady who hides beneath the armor of catty comments and one-night conquests. To 24 most of the world, my crony flings a f.u.c.k-it-before-it-f.u.c.ks-you att.i.tude.

She may be an obnoxious, inconsiderate s.l.u.t at times, but she's a good friend if she likes youand she loves me.

"I'm too old to learn the game." I know she's right. But I've been bitten, had a hunk the size of Texas chewed out of my a.s.s to be precise, and I don't think I have another try in me.

"You're too d.a.m.n young to mope around the house all the time,"

Tonya says. "Come on, go out with me this weekend. Get your feet wet, see how it goes."

"Maybe I will." I know full well I'll back out by Sat.u.r.day afternoon.

Tonya knows it, too. "No more chicken s.h.i.t. I'm holding you to it.

We'll go out for a few drinks, see some new people. It'll do wonders for you."

"Maybe." My chest begins to tighten.

The phone goes quiet, then crackles again. "I'm heading toward a no-service zone," Tonya says. "Call you tomorrow."

I drop the phone and punch my pillow. I'll probably fall asleep ten minutes before the alarm goes off.

I get up at 5:30. It's been my ritual for years, but now I have to make my own coffee and toast my own bagel. I hate that, not because I want someone to cater to my needs, but because I miss her doing those little things once in a while.

As every morning, I take a shower and put on my makeup, feed Jitterbug, and take her for a quick walk in the vacant lot across the street before putting her in the guestroom for the day. It's nice to be needed, even if it's only by a dog.

I back out of the garage at seven and see Jared Kingsley plodding up his front walk. He has the morning paper tucked under his arm, and his tan overcoat flaps in the breeze. Jared eyes my Lexus again.

I roll down the window and shout over the whistling wind. "Why don't you just break down and buy one?"

"Still thinking about it. We might go for the GS 430."

"That'll set you back an extra ten grand."

Jared shrugs and finger-combs his tousled hair. "Can't decide on a color, anyway."

I wonder why it's so tough for a doctor who makes life-and-death decisions every day to decide on a car color. He's on the ER staff at 25 Mercy Hospital, so rushing into critical decisions is his job. Maybe it makes sense for him to take his time on the mundane things in life. I roll up my window, wave again, and back out of the driveway. After a short trip through town, I arrive at work by 7:15. The manufacturing plant is a long, gray, high-roofed building with the words Office Solutions, Inc., in big blue letters across the front. I wave to Pete Archer, the plant supervisor, and let myself in the back door. I lock it, switch on the break room lights, and turn on the coffeepot. Mary, the office manager, is a bear before she gets her morning caffeine fix, and I'm not in the mood to be growled at this early.

I go to my office and drop my briefcase in the visitor's chair.

Tracing my finger along the top of the cherry desk, I circle around and plop into my chair. I notice that I left the computer on again last night. I should be more careful.

"Why do you have to be so d.a.m.n efficient?" I snarl, slapping the top of my CRT. "Whoever invented you is making it harder and harder for me to earn a living."

I glance at the picture sitting on my desk. That old sour feeling creeps up into my throat. Swallowing hard, I allow myself a lingering look at her big eyes and lopsided smile.

"We had more good times than bad, didn't we, honey?" I wonder if she ever misses me.

Reggie, my boss, stumbles into my office and leans against the wall with his arms crossed. He's a pretty good guy and usually leaves me to myself, but this morning he's got those three deep wrinkles on his forehead that mean trouble.

"Claire, you've got about sixteen weeks of vacation time piled up.

Why don't you let me call the travel agent and book you on one of those cruises? My treat."

"Thanks, Reg, but I can't see myself frolicking around the Bahamas with a bunch of honeymooners."

"So take someone with you. Go out and find a tall-dark-and- whatever." He glances away. After a long pause, he goes on, "I thought a few days in the sun might kick up that old spark in you."

"I'm not sparky?" I pick up a folder, open it, and pretend to read.

"Don't be a smart-a.s.s." He rubs his face with long slender fingers.

"I miss that go-getter who barged into my officewhat is it now, sixteen years ago?and told me she'd put me on the map. What happened to her?"

"Come on, Reg, you're still on the map. I won't let you go back to peddling manila folders and rubber stamps from that hole in the wall on 26 Main Street." I try to give him a playful smile, but he quit buying that routine a long time ago.

"Listen, kid, you came to me with nothing but a few drawings and a full head of steam, and look where it got you." He catches my eye.

"How many people do you know who've gone from nothing to a six figure salary in less than ten years?"

"It wasn't all me. My designs were pitiful. I practically asked Harold to build a three bedroom house with paperclips and chewing gum."

"He did it, though, didn't he?" My boss chuckles and shakes his head. "Those were the days, huh? Remember all those nights, the three of us swilling coffee to beat the band and cussing each other till the sun came up?"

"Yep, I remember all right."

Reggie shakes his head. "If I'd known then what I know now..."

My palms get damp and I s.n.a.t.c.h a tissue from the desk drawer to dry them. "Reg, do you ever think maybe we went too far? Maybe we spent so much time building this business that we missed out on the good things in life? You know, the important stuff?"

"It's possible." He hooks his thumbs through his leather suspenders and, for an instant, gets a far away look in his eye. He gives his suspenders a tug and lets go of them with a snap. "No going back now, and I've got the divorce papers to prove it."

"Guess you're right." I rock back in my chair and fold my hands across my middle. "Don't worry about me. I'll get my momentum again.

Besides, you need to do more than sit in your office and play electronic poker all day."

He grins. "I can't do this without you, Claire. You know that."

"You won't have to."

"The Healthmark proposal is due. Ready for it?"

"Ready and able, boss."

He nods and saunters away. I throw a salute as he disappears down the hall.

I check my schedule and see I have a conference call at 10:00 that should take about an hour. It hits me that I've been scheduling my appointments and meetings around lunch at Choppy's. I'm altering my life to look at a woman who doesn't care if I exist. That's pathetic.

I spend the rest of the morning returning phone messages and going over a proposal to provide filing systems for a chain of hospitals. If the sales rep can land the account, it'll mean a hefty bonus for both him and me.

27.

I start to get daydreamy about 9:30 and go to the break room for a cup of coffee to whisk away the cobwebs.

I find Mary pouring what must be her fifth cup and leaving the pot empty. I've always been jealous of her ability to drink up all that sugar and never gain a pound, but I'm not jealous of her ability to apply eye shadow. Some mornings she looks like she spent the night duking it out with George Foreman. Pity, she's got skin like a baby doll and great bone structure. She dresses like Liz Taylora little over the top for a business office, but we don't mention it.

Mary doesn't look at me as she dumps sugar into her mug.

"Haven't seen you this morning. Busy?"

"Not too bad." I put a clean filter into the coffee maker. "I'm almost finished with the Healthmark proposal. Can you type it up this afternoon?"

"Gotcha covered." She twirls away, her flowing skirt sending a breeze against my legs.

When the coffee is ready, I pour a cup and go back to my office to find the phone ringing. Rounding my desk, I grab the receiver and sit down.

"Claire Blevins," I say.

"Hey, girl." It's Tonya.

"Hey."

"Got any good leads for me?"

Always got to find new leads. Leads for me, leads for Tonya, leads for the sales reps. In Tonya's case, it's the least I can do. She's as much a part of my success team as anyone.

I flip through the stack of folders on my desk and pick one from the group. "I gave your card to Dr. Wolford. He's thinking of updating his waiting area."

"s.h.i.t, Claire, I don't want to decorate offices. They expect me to create the Taj Mahal on a ten-dollar budget. Houses, that's where the money is. Get little wifey to sign the checks."

"It's a foot in the door, Fly. That's all I can do."

She giggles. "I know, and I appreciate it. Besides, some of those doctors' offices are prime prowling ground."

"Geez, are you out to bed every woman you meet?" I toss Dr.

Wolford's folder aside and glance at the clock.

"Only the pretty ones." After a pause, she says, "We're still on for Sat.u.r.day, right?"