Part 10 (2/2)
”Apparently, you never learned the difference between charming and childish. You think you can scuff your foot on the ground and say, 'Aw, shucks,' and you're being adorable. Well, let me tell you, Grant Austin, you're not the least bit adorable. You're disgusting, insecure, and needy.”
”Needy? I'm not needy! I'm so far from being needy, needy is extinct in my world.”
”Get a clue, Grant. When a woman looks for a man she wants a mature relations.h.i.+p, not a babysitting job.”
I was definitely at a disadvantage. It was obvious Miss Ling was drawing on background material and I didn't know the source. ”Just who have you been talking to?”
She grinned with sarcasm. ”So, you recognize the description of yourself, do you?”
”You've obviously been talking to someone who knows . . . who thinks she knows me.”
She mulled that for a moment. I didn't think for a moment I'd stopped her, but I had slowed her down a bit.
”Before attending UCSD,” she said, ”I earned a master's degree at State. Lived on campus. University Towers. Roomed with an incredibly talented woman who majored in broadcast journalism.”
”Jana,” I said.
”Between you and that reptile Shepherd, when I wasn't attending cla.s.ses, I was helping her pick up the pieces of her life. For both being 'nice guys,' the two of you really did a job on her.”
”Hold on just a second,” I protested. ”Jana and I split up . . . what? Ten years ago? We were a couple of kids back then. And she left me! How would you like to be called to account for something you did ten years ago?”
Miss Ling played her trump card coolly. ”Jana called me this morning from a cab.”
”Oh.”
”That's it? That's your defense?”
”I can explain what happened this morning.”
”And does the explanation have anything to do with the fact that you obviously haven't grown up in the last ten years?”
”I was going to call her . . . I am going to call her after I leave here. Invite her to dinner. I want to work things out.”
”And will Christina be joining you?” Miss Ling asked.
She walked away. This time I didn't stop her.
CHAPTER 9.
Fatigue stalked me from El Cajon to my hotel room in Mission Valley and I was ready to surrender to it. This time yesterday I was pa.s.sed out on Myles Shepherd's office floor. I wouldn't call it a nap, but it was the last time I'd closed my eyes for any length of time.
I took a much-needed shower, left a message for Jana on her answering machine, listened to Christina's phone ring a couple dozen times, grabbed a jar of peanuts and a soda from the honor bar, and crashed onto the bed.
Three hours later I awoke holding an empty jar. Peanuts lay scattered on the bed, the floor, and plastered on the side of my face. It could have been worse. I could have fallen asleep holding the soda can.
From my balcony I watched the sun expand until it was a huge orange ball. It dipped itself into the Pacific Ocean. I dialed Jana's cell number a second time, then tried calling her at the television station. They took a message.
The six o'clock evening news broadcast Jana's story of the freeway accident during the morning commute and the resulting traffic jam. I knelt inches from the screen and searched the crowd behind her, hoping to get a glimpse of Myles. I didn't, of course.
Seven p.m. How much longer should I wait for Jana? Should I order room service?
Reaching for the remote, I sat at the foot of the bed and clicked on the television. The Los Angeles Angels were dominating the Devil Rays. I wasn't familiar with either team and after a few innings my interest waned. I changed channels.
Click.
The Angels were still playing, only this time heavenly angel Christopher Lloyd was lifting the baseball outfielder off his feet to make a miracle catch.
”It could happen!” I quoted the line with little J.P.
Click.
Redheaded angel Roma Downey was revealing her true ident.i.ty to a suicidal artist. ”I'm an angel, sent from G.o.d,” she said with her soft Irish brogue. Special effects lighting simulated a halo.
”It's nothing like that!” I shouted at the screen. ”Trust me, I know.”
I couldn't believe I'd said that. I knew nothing of the kind. This whole angel scenario was Professor Forsythe's theory, not mine. What I saw in Shepherd's office was a hallucination, not an angel.
But three angel programs in a row? What a coincidence, especially considering all the talk about angels today.
My thumb paused over the channel changer. I grinned. What are the odds of four programs in a row about angels?
Click.
John Travolta was the Archangel Michael. His wings were molting.
I stared dumbly at the television. This was beyond coincidence. It was downright spooky.
Click.
Angel Cary Grant swooped his arms and a Christmas tree was miraculously dressed.
Click.
Probationary angel Michael Landon adjusted his ball cap and climbed into a car driven by Victor French.
Scared now, I turned the television off. It came back on by itself.
Angel Clarence explained to Jimmy Stewart that every time a bell rings an angel gets his wings.
Click.
I didn't change the channel. It changed by itself.
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