Light flooded a corner office, and I couldn't help but look in as I passed by—I was nosy by nature. Through thin miniblinds I spotted Willie Sala. I dropped down out of sight and speculated.
It looked to be some sort of storage room. I peeked in again. He seemed to be waiting for someone. I slipped over to the other side of the window so I could see the door to the office. It didn't take long for it to swing open—or for the woman to jump into Willie's waiting arms.
His snakelike voice slithered through the window. "It will all be over by Friday, darling." Then he kissed her, and I tried not to get grossed out. After all, this was Willie Sala, comb-over king. But the woman kissing him wasn't his wife.
It was Sherry Cochran.
Eight
Bright and early the next morning I met Duke at the gym.
I didn't do bright and early well. Rubbing my eyes, I tried to focus.
"Did you eat?" he asked me. Solid muscle, he stood six feet tall and what seemed like six feet wide.
The gym was relatively empty at five in the morning, and I was beyond grateful for the privacy. "A low-carb blueberry muffin."
"Don't skimp on the carbs in the morning. You need your energy if you're going to work with me." He stood, hands behind his back, feet spread shoulder width apart, military style. Put the man in cammos and he would scare the pee out of any new recruit. "Get your protein too."
I didn't realize I was clenching my fists until my palms started to ache. Little half-moon fingernail impressions marred my skin.
Inhaling, I reminded myself there was nothing wrong with change, with trying something new. It wasn't scary— it was just unexplored.
What was scary was Duke.
Duke was a crew-cut Mack truck, and I sensed he was about to roll over me. Splat.
"We'll start with taking some measurements, do some stretching, and then move to the treadmill to see what's in you," he said.
"Um, the treadmill? Really? There's a reason I don't use escalators."
"No excuses."
I think the muscles in his face had muscles. His cheeks didn't wobble when he talked, and he'd either had Botox or his forehead was made of granite.
I leaned toward granite.
As he measured, weighed me, and wrote everything down for posterity, I couldn't help but think about Sherry Cochran and Willie Sala. Together. Last night.
I shuddered.
Duke barked out a laugh. "Don't worry. You'll be warmed up in no time."
I wondered how Kit knew Duke, and if Kit secretly hated me.
As we stretched muscles I never knew I had, my mind went back to Sherry and how she'd stood me up last night. I'd waited nearly half an hour in Thad's office for her to show. She never did.
I had a good idea where she might have been, but I wasn't going there looking for her. No way. No how. I had a weak stomach.
It was nearly impossible not to think about the death threats and whether they were real. If so, they could be related to the whole love quadrangle going on over at HoD. Or to Jessica Ayers.
Odds were, however, they had been faked.
I sat on the floor in my baggy tee and saggy shorts, my legs stretched out in a V shape. I tried to touch the toe of my left foot, but my back cramped.
"Now the other side," Duke ordered, touching his toe with ease. "Stretch it, stretch it. Bend with your waist, don't strain your neck."
Ana—who hadn't gone home with Carson last night, but did have a date after tonight's taping—had speculated that Thad and Sherry and Willie and Genevieve were swingers.
I supposed it was possible, but I didn't believe it. The meeting between Willie and Sherry had seemed too clandestine, and the timing . . . when everyone else was on the set? What better time to sneak away?
"Now put your feet together and reach."
Yep, Kit hated me.
Now that I knew Willie was in fact the cheating type, I wouldn't put sexual harassment beyond him, but had he actually harassed Jessica? Or had she trumped up this charge as revenge for being bumped off the show by Willie's new wife?
I hated that I'd been sucked into this situation. My mind couldn't just leave things be. My nosiness had taken over, and I wanted answers.
Not your business, my inner voice reminded me. That voice had been fairly quiet since I ventured into selfdiscovery. I'd missed it.
Duke led me to the treadmill.
Exercising had seemed so desirable yesterday, but now I wasn't as gung-ho. Perhaps self-acceptance was what I truly needed to learn. Over time I could get used to my tummy roll. "I'm not so sure about this, Duke. Mr. Duke? Sir?"
Duke placed his hands on his hips. Muscles fl exed. His tone brooked no argument. "I'm sure."
I argued anyway. "Really. I don't do well with objects in motion."
"Get on. Now."
I quickly jumped onto the treadmill and wondered why I paid Duke so much just to be bossed around—I could get that from my sister Maria for free. He clipped a lead line onto me. "For safety." He pressed the On button. The treadmill hummed, and I started walking.
Okay, this wasn't so bad. Change wasn't hard at all! Why was I so worried? Self-discovery was good! I was walking my way to a firmer, fitter bod—
Duke pushed 3 on the keypad. The treadmill sped up. I picked up my pace and tightened my grip on the safety rails.
Not so bad. Piece of cake.
Mmm. Cake. A little digital calorie counter had just hit
100. How long would I have to walk to earn a piece of German chocolate cake?
After fifteen minutes at 3, Duke bumped it up to 4.5 and said, "Jog."
"What?" Sweat dripped down the side of my face. I didn't dare let go of the rails to wipe it away.
"Jog!"
The treadmill sped up. I broke into a jog. Like a racetrack dog chasing after a stuffed bunny, I imagined a big, ooey, gooey piece of cake in front of me . . . until Duke jumped in front of the treadmill, bursting my cake bubble.
Suddenly I didn't feel much like running anymore.
"Pump your arms!" he ordered.
My arms? That meant I'd have to let go of the rails.
Duke sidestepped, and I swear the piece of cake returned, floating where his head had been. It was all the incentive I needed.
I let go of the safety rail and . . . jogged.
I was doing it! Jogging!
German chocolate cake, here I come!
I looked over at Duke, smiled.
Suddenly, everything woozily tilted off-kilter. My feet flew out from under me and my arms flailed as I went fl ying off the back of the treadmill, crashing onto the fl oor. The lead line came with me, shutting down the machine.
I landed on my butt and collapsed in a heap.
Duke hovered over me like the angel of death. "Maybe you're right. The treadmill isn't for you."
* * *
I walked into chaos at TBS. BeBe greeted me at the door, all slobbery kisses and drool. I looked at Kit.
He gawked at me.
Right. The makeover. I'd forgotten.
Roxie and Nels were there, and Roxie was in a snit. "Where were you this morning?"
Right. I was supposed to meet them at home, but I'd come straight there from Duke's torture chamber—after showering.
"Sorry," I said. "I was off meeting Bobby for a secret rendezvous."
Roxie's eyes bulged.
"I'm kidding," I said. "I was . . . somewhere else."
"Where?"
"Somewhere."
"Ach," Brickhouse broke in. "Enough. She's not going to tell you, and it's none of your business anyway."
Roxie folded her arms.
Kit smiled. "How was that somewhere?"
"I thought you liked me."
He laughed. It was good to see him laugh. He still didn't look well. He looked . . .
Wait.
He looked like I did right after Bobby had left.
Had Daisy left? Was their relationship that far gone? I'd known it was on the rocks, but
never suspected it had gotten so bad.
BeBe licked my hand. Since Kit was down in the dumps, I decided not to make an issue of BeBe. Looked like TBS had officially become a doggy day care. I wondered if I needed a license for that.
"Did you really fire Deanna?" Kit asked, sipping coffee from a pink LIVE! WITH REGIS & KELLY mug.
"What? No!"
Brickhouse said, "Then why is she leaving?"
My stomach knotted. "You'll have to ask her."
"What about Weekend Warrior?" Kit asked.
Weekend Warrior was my innovative design project, specifically created for Deanna's talents. "I don't know. I didn't get a chance to tell Deanna about it."
Brickhouse clucked. "Maybe you should. Maybe then she wouldn't leave."
I rubbed BeBe's head. She looked up at me, all big brown eyes and adoration. It did my heart good. Being a doggy day care wasn't so bad. "She made her choice."
"Ach. Stubborn."
"Yes, she is."
"Not her." Brickhouse folded her arms. "You."
"Hey, I tried explaining, and she wouldn't let me get a word in edgewise. Right?" I asked Roxie, because Nels had been in dreamland.
Roxie nodded. "It's true."
"In fact," I added, "did you all know Deanna already had an interview scheduled at The Grass Is Always Greener for Friday?"
Kit finally broke the stunned silence by saying, "Sorry, Nina." By the look in his eye, I think he finally understood.
"What was I supposed to do?" I asked them.
"Ach. That Deanna is so stubborn."
I smiled. It was as close to sympathy as I was going to get from Brickhouse. "Well, let's not dwell. We all have work to do."
I walked over to the coffeepot, took a deep breath and poured a mug. "What?" I asked at Kit's and Brickhouse's stares.
"Coffee?" Kit said. "Are we out of Dr Pepper?"
"Ach. I just stocked some."
"I just wanted to try coffee," I said. "No big deal."
Brickhouse clucked. "She's gone and lost her mind. First the hair, now coffee. What's next? A new wardrobe?"
"The hair rocks," Kit said, smiling.
"Thanks." I was glad Perry wasn't there to gloat. And I didn't mention to Brickhouse the shopping trip he had talked me into. We were going to meet later that week.
I leaned against the doorjamb to my office, holding the mug tight, letting its warmth sink into my hands. I could get used to that feeling, especially now that temperatures were dropping like the autumn leaves outside.
"Kit, I hired you a helping hand. He'll be here later on to meet everyone and turn in his paperwork. Ana sent him over. Ursula, if you could run the usual checks, that'd be great. Roxie, Nels, we have a road trip today, so, Roxie, if you need to take some medicine, do it now."
She dove for her purse as the phone rang. Brickhouse answered it. "Taken by Surprise, this is Ursula. Mmm-hmm. Hold on." She looked at me. "Sherry Cochran, line one."
"I'll take it in my office." Since wherever I went now included Nels and Roxie, they were on my heels as I entered my office, set my mug on the desk—still not having taken a sip—and picked up the phone. "This is Nina Quinn," I said. In the reception area, I could hear Kit and Brickhouse gossiping about Deanna. I covered the phone with one hand. "Can you close that?" I asked Nels, motioning to the door with my elbow.
With the door shut, I focused on the conversation.
"I'm so sorry I missed our appointment, Ms. Quinn."
"Nina, please."
"I was . . . delayed, then I completely forgot. My memory isn't what it used to be."
I tried in vain to erase the image of what had delayed her.
No luck.
Willie's "It will all be over by Friday" was suddenly stuck in my head. It sounded so ominous, so sinister, especially in light of the death threats.
"It's all right," I assured her. "I didn't wait long."
"I was hoping to reschedule our appointment. I'd really
like to get the ball rolling on a spring makeover for my parents."
"This is a good time to start planning. Would you like to make an appointment to come in, throw some ideas around?"
"That would be wonderful."
I clicked open the computerized schedule book. Winter was my main planning time for next season. Most makeovers for spring would be booked in the next few months. There were always exceptions, though, especially where my family was concerned.
Roxie gestured frantically.
"Could you hold on?" I asked Sherry.
"Sure."
I covered the phone with my hand.
In a stage whisper, Roxie said, "Is it possible to set one up this week? So we can film it? It would be great for the show, and some free advertising for you."
Most of my publicity lately had been negative, what with stumbling across dead bodies and such. It would be nice to have a positive spin for once.
I nodded and squinted at the computer screen. "Mrs. Cochran?"
"Sherry."
"How about Friday, Sherry, around one?"
"Actually, Friday's not good for me."
I wondered why and if it had anything to do with Willie's prediction. "Thursday?" I asked. "Ten o'clock?"
"That would be wonderful."
We said our good-byes and hung up. I tapped her name into the computer, clicked Save, and picked up the phone to call home.
Where my mother should have been. I hadn't seen or heard from her, which was odd. I suspected she'd watched the show last night . . . She'd have seen my makeover. What did it mean that she hadn't called?
My home phone rang and rang and finally clicked over to voice mail.
I dialed her cell.
It went straight to voice mail. "I need to talk to you," I said. "Give me a call."
The warm mug soothed me. I held it to my lips.
"Are you ever going to drink that?" Roxie asked.
"I'm thinking about it."
"Why wouldn't you?" Nels asked.
"I don't like coffee."
They looked at each other, then looked at me, eyebrows all squiggled.
"Long story," I said.
Roxie looked over the rim of her blue glasses at me. "Just so long as there's a reason."
"There is."
"Good. I was afraid that hair dye steeped a little too long."
I smiled. Roxie had moxie. I liked that about her.
"You can do it," Nels urged.
I could. The new me definitely could. I took a sip. The coffee burned a bitter path to my stomach. "Uck."
"Well, first," Roxie said, "you probably should have blown on it before taking a big gulp like that. Second, did you add cream? Sugar?"
I shook my head.
Roxie elbowed Nels. "Go grab some. And check to see if there's any cinnamon out there too."
For the first time, I wondered if they were related. They treated each other like beleaguered siblings.
Nels came back and dumped sugar packets, little cream containers, a Kroger brand canister of cinnamon, and a stirrer on my desk.
Roxie stepped up, ripped open two packets of sugar, dumped them into my mug, popped the tops of two creamers and poured those in as well. She stirred, then
sprinkled a little cinnamon on top. "Try that."
This time I blew across the top of the mug before taking a hesitant sip. My eyebrow arched. "Not bad!"
She preened. "I was a barista at Starbucks during college. I can make any coffee taste better. Even the dreck you serve here."
"Dreck?"
"You should really be grinding your own beans."
"Ah."
Strains of "Like a Virgin" filled the office. Nels sang along. I flipped open my cell phone when I recognized Ana's number. "Hey," I said.
"Why's your mother avoiding you?"
"She's avoiding me?" This was news. Usually I avoided her.
"I think so. She called me to find out why you need to talk to her."