Blast From The Past 2 (5 page)

“What time is it?” I asked, rolling over in what I thought was my bed. The sunlight coming in through the window was much brighter than it should be at any hour I was used to waking up at, and it made my skin feel uncomfortably warm against the blue flannel sheets.

Wait a minute
, I thought to myself, touching the fabric.
I don’t own any blue flannel sheets
.

I shot straight up and sat at full attention, staring around the bright, modern bedroom of someone else’s apartment.

“Where am I?” I shouted. “And what the hell happened?” I looked down and saw that I was wearing a pair of men’s boxer shorts and a
Big Bang
T-shirt.

“Calm down,” a voice called out from the other rooms. It had been several years, or several hours, however you want to measure it—but, I recognized the voice as Tommy’s.

“You’re in my apartment,” he went on. “You got so drunk last night, you couldn’t even remember your own address… So I brought you back here, and you spent the night.”

I crossed my legs and covered myself up with the blanket. “Did anything—” I started to ask.

“No, nothing happened,” Tommy said. “But that’s only ‘cause I’m such a gentleman. Towards the end of the night, you were hanging all over me, and a lesser man would’ve ended up in that bed beside you… I slept on the couch, and let you take the bed—and, from the sounds of your snoring last night, I made the right decision.”

My head was pounding with a hangover, and, slowly but surely, I started to remember things from the night before. Tommy and I had stayed on to drink at The Soapbox, and we’d each had more than our fair share.

“Oh no,” I said, glancing down at the T-shirt I was wearing. “My dress?” I asked, faintly remembering what had happened.

“Yeah, you hurled all over it,” Tommy said, “which was another thing that made it a little easier to resist your advances.”

“I’m
so
sorry,” I said, feeling incredibly embarrassed. More and more of the evening was returning to my memory now, and I had even
more
reason to feel embarrassed. I remembered flirting with Tommy, like he’d said—and I even remember trying to say something sexy to him with a pool of spittle on my chest.
Not very appealing
.

I also recalled that we’d talked more about my situation and the state of things at rEcore. My lips had been loose, sure enough. I was trying to remember just
how
loose I’d let them get. I hoped that I hadn’t shared too much more with Tommy; I’d already shared more than was necessary.

“Good thing it’s Saturday,” Tommy said, walking out of the room. “If it was a weekday, I would have had to wake you up at the crack of dawn and kick you out… But, since it’s the weekend, you’ve got a little bit of wiggle room here. Take your time; take a shower if you want.
Mi casa es su casa
. I ran your dress through the wash—according to the instructions on the label—and it’s in the drier now. It should be out in about twenty minutes… Just let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Tommy,” I said letting go of the blankets I was clinging onto. My ex-boyfriend’s personality made me feel comfortable in my unfamiliar surroundings, and it actually made me start to wonder—
If Tommy and I had ever had a “real relationship” beyond the naivetés of college, would
this
be what it was like? Me waking up in his bed, and him taking care of me?

I crawled out of bed and found my way to the bathroom. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I wanted to cringe and laugh at the same time. I looked absolutely horrific, and I didn’t know how Tommy could have stood there talking to me with a straight face. My hair was matted to my head in a few different spots, and my eye make-up looked ridiculous. I had black raccoon lines all over my cheeks and eyelids, trailing off to places on my face where eyeliner had never gone before, and should never go.

I yawned, and, just then, tasted my own breath, and was sickened. It was like death warmed over with a sidecar chaser. I peeled off the clothes that Tommy had loaned me and, without hesitation, jumped into his shower. I have to admit, it was a little awkward, and very brazen, for me to do that—I mean, showering in someone else’s apartment, especially when it’s a man, and it’s a man you don’t know that well anymore, though you used to date him, but that was a long time ago… The reasons for
not
taking a shower there were many, but the reasons
for
taking one were more powerful. I felt, looked, and smelled like hell, and only warm water and soap could do something about it.

The warm water and suds felt great going over my body, and there are a lot of metaphors I could make about how it “reawakened” me or “washed away my problems,” but all that really mattered was that it washed away the dirt and drunkenness—well, maybe more so the former than the latter. I was still so hungover that, by some standards, I was still drunk.

But, drunk, hungover, or sober as I was, I didn’t want to spend too long in Tommy’s shower. Once I made sure everything was clean—or at least everything I was willing to clean in Tommy’s apartment—I turned the water off, got out, and grabbed what I hoped was a clean towel from the shelf. There were a few laid out there, and the one I got hold of looked fluffy and smelled fresh, so I was optimistic about my selection.

“Your dress still isn’t dry yet,” Tommy yelled out from just past the door. He must have heard the water start and then stop, and was coming to update me on my clothing. “I ran it on low heat so I wouldn’t shrink it… I know how those labels can be. I’d give it another fifteen or twenty minutes… But I laid out some fresh clothes for you to wear in the meantime.”

“Thanks,” I shouted back, drying my hair. I wondered which TV show would be featured on
this
T-shirt.

It turned out to be
Beavis and Butthead
, the one where Beavis has his shirt pulled over his head, as “the great Cornholio,” who, as you’ll recall, needed TP for his bunghole. We’d watched DVDs of that show together in college, and I couldn’t help but think that’s why Tommy laid this one out for me—surely he had at least a dozen other absurd ones to select from.

“I guess it’s a good thing that the only stuff you have for me to wear is boxers and guys’ T-shirts,” I said, walking into the kitchen to join Tommy. “If you had girlier clothes, that’d mean that you got a lot of play—or that you had a deep-seated problem.”

“I keep my panties and bras hidden,” Tommy said, taking a sip of coffee. “You don’t get to see those until the second date.”

“How exciting,” I said, making my way to the coffee pot and helping myself, without invitation. “So, is that what you’re calling last night then—a date?”

“Well, what would
you
call it?” Tommy asked, standing up and walking over to me. He opened the cupboard door to expose sugar, creamer, and artificial sweetener.

“I don’t know,” I said, speaking in all honesty. I poured some creamer into my cup and tapped two blue packets against my fingers. “I don’t know
what
I’d call it… and, really, I don’t even know if I want to think about it.”

“That’s fine,” Tommy said. “No pressure… Call it whatever you want… But, for now, I kinda think we should keep it a secret.”

I looked at Tommy, waiting for more.

“I mean, you’re not telling me who you’re working on things with to figure stuff out at rEcore,” he said, leaning back against the counter. “And it’s probably better that way… And it’s probably better that
they
don’t know about
me,
either. Don’t forget, I work for InLander—and we’re a major competitor. If it got out that you were making time with me, well, who knows what would happen? People might see that as motive or incentive, and then your whole case would be dead in the water.”

Tommy had a point, and I saw it.

“Right,” I said. “I get it… The whole ‘sleeping with the enemy’ thing.”

“Oh,” Tommy said. A boyish smile crept across his face. “So you
do
plan on sleeping with me then?”

Neither one of us needed me to answer.

“Where the hell have you been?” Julie said, nearly screaming my ear off. I’d just left Tommy’s apartment and was still mighty hungover, so I wasn’t ready for her loudness. She’d called and texted a combined total of eleven times over the past few hours, and I wasn’t ready for her persistence either.

“It’s no big deal,” I said. “I went out last night, had a few drinks, and got carried away… I’m on my way home how.”

“Oh my God, you
didn’t
?” Julie said in that unmistakable tone. “You got laid last night, didn’t you?”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” I said firmly, “but, no I didn’t. I just had a little too much to drink, and was fortunate to be around someone who took care of me.”

I wanted so desperately to tell Julie about what had happened with Tommy. First of all, I wanted to update her and let her know I wasn’t slacking in our investigation, but, even more importantly, I needed my girl for girl talk. Things with Tommy had really thrown me for a loop, and I need someone to bounce my thoughts and feelings off of. I needed a friend to talk to.

But I couldn’t talk to Julie. I couldn’t tell her about how sweetly Tommy had treated me, and about how I was starting to, possibly, develop feelings for him again. I also couldn’t tell her how I was super confused about those feelings, because, in the backdrop, I also had residual feelings for J.R.

Now wouldn’t
that
sound crazy? Could you imagine me telling Julie all of that? I met up with my ex, who was now sexy as sin, and I ended up passing out in his bed after vomiting all over myself. I didn’t know whether I wanted to start seeing him again, or if I was gonna hold out for the billionaire boss who’d just fired me and once upon a time tried to bang my supervisor, who could or could not be involved in my ultimate downfall.
That
was all just a little too messed up, don’t you think?

“Whatever, I don’t care,” Julie said, drawing me back into the phone conversation. “While you were off picking up dudes at the bar, I was going my homework… I found something that might interest you.”

I waited for Julie to tell me, then asked, “Yes?”

“Apparently, that security guard, Stephanie, wasn’t the only member of her family to work for rEcore,” Julie said. I could see her assuming a film noir pose through the phone lines. “Her brother worked there, too—as a programmer—but then, something went wrong, and he was fired… I’ll give you two guesses who fired him.”

“I only need one,” I said.

“You shouldn’t even need that many,” Julie replied.

“So?” I asked. “The plot thickens?”

“It looks that way,” Julie answered. “Go home, wash the sex off of you, and I’ll be over in a couple hours.”

“Julie, I didn’t—”

“Mmm-hmm,” Julie interrupted. Her hum was friendly. “Just do whatever you have to do. I’ll be over soon.”

“Okay,” I said, shaking my head as I ended the call. “See you soon.”

The other phone calls on my missed calls list weren’t so easy to return. All five of them came from “Unknown” numbers—and I knew who
that
was, though I didn’t know how to get back to him. I’d have to wait for J.R. to call me back, and there was nothing I could do in the meantime.

But, it turns out, that meantime didn’t last too long. I was back at my apartment and not even there for fifteen minutes when my phone started buzzing again. I looked down—the call was from an “Unknown” caller.

“Hello?” I asked.

“Trish?” J.R. asked back. “I was worried about you. I tried calling a few times.”

“I know,” I replied. “Sorry I missed your calls… But there was no way I could call back.”

“I’m sorry for
that
,” J.R. said. “But, obviously, I have to call you from cloaked numbers.”

“I figured,” I said.

“But anyway, I’ve got something to tell you,” J.R. said—and, this time, it was
his
film noir pose I could see through the phone lines.

“Is it about how Stephanie’s brother used to work as a programmer for rEcore?” I asked. “Or about how your girlfriend, Gigi, fired him?”

“Actually, yeah,” J.R. said, sounding a little defeated. “But she’s not my girlfriend… never was.”

“I know,” I chimed back. “But it sounds more dramatic that way, doesn’t it?”

“I guess,” J.R. replied. “But can’t you give me more credit than that? You really think I’d date someone who turned out to be so ruthless?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, trying to be snarkier than I should have in the conversation.

“I guess
you’d
know better than anyone,” J.R. shot back. “You were pretty ruthless to me, you know… the way you left me that morning.”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about
that
,” I said, feeling my hangover then more than ever.

“I don’t,” J.R. said. “But if you’re going to say shit about me and Gigi, I get free range. You obviously think you know a lot about me—but, I assure you, you don’t.”

“That may be the case,” I told J.R., trying to dig myself out of whatever ditch I was in. “But, right now, that doesn’t matter, now does it? You made that abundantly clear when you said you didn’t want to talk about our
mistake
.”

The way I said that last word was a little different than how I’d said every other word in my statement, and J.R. could sense that.

“So what do you want to do?” he asked with a sigh. “Wanna dwell on the past, or get together to discuss this new information?”

“Julie will be here in an hour or two,” I responded without much emotion. “You’re welcome to join us if you want to.”

“I will,” J.R. said without hesitation. “Is there anything you and your bodyguard would like? I may stop at the store or get some take-out along the way—so if there’s something you want, you might as well just tell me.”

I decided to pass on J.R.’s comment about my “bodyguard,” but elected to take him up on his offer. “Some Chinese would be nice—maybe some Thai, if you’re daring. I am a little hungry, and could use something with flavor.”

“Done,” J.R. replied promptly. “I’ll be there—with some food—in a couple hours.”