Harlan was at the gym, working out with the amputees, when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He finished his set of chest presses, then sat up and pulled out the phone.
“Hey,” Julio Vega said. “If you’re not going to work out, bounce.”
Harlan said, “I’m going. Keep your shirt on.”
“Yeah,” Julio said, sliding into place a little awkwardly, since his prosthetic leg was still new. “Some of us got a schedule, man. Some of us got to get jacked. Can’t impress the ladies without definition.”
Harlan wasn’t listening. The call had been from Jennifer, and she hadn’t left a message. He was pressing the redial button even as the thoughts flew through his head like startled birds.
She should be at work already, starting the first day of her new job. She’d never call him at a time like that. Not Jennifer. So, what? Her car had broken down? She’d had an accident?
No answer. Voicemail. He called again with the same result, then a third time, his heart pounding now.
Pick up, he thought. Pick UP.
“Hey, ’mano,” Julio said, finishing his set. “You OK?”
Harlan barely heard him. Jennifer’s real-live voice had finally come on the line, saying, “Geez, Harlan, I was going to the bathroom.”
He laughed. He also got a little weak in the knees. Relief would do that to you. “Yep,” he said. “It’s you, and the kidnappers don’t have you, either.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Nothing. I was a little worried. Not like you to call me, not once you’d got there. Not Miss Nose-to-the-Grindstone.” Might as well work on the leg press while he talked, he decided, and moved over to do it, switching the call to his Bluetooth earbuds. “So what’s up?” he asked while he racked the weights a little higher, then seated himself and started working.
“Is this necklace some kind of BDSM thing?” she asked, and he just about let go of the weight stack.
“Uh …” He looked around. Julio looked back at him, eyebrow raised. “No. It’s edgy, that’s all. Got a little edge to it. Plus, you took the padlock off before you wore it.”
Now, Julio wasn’t the only one looking. Harlan didn’t care. “Why?” he asked. “Did somebody say something?”
“Yeah. Blake. Harlan, it didn’t cost twenty-five hundred dollars, did it?”
“Uh …” He couldn’t very well lie. All she had to do was look it up.
She said, “It’s sterling silver.” It was more of a wail. “And I’m an idiot. Look, I’m taking it off. Except then Blake wins. Also, he implied that my skirt was too short. It’s not any shorter than anybody else’s, I’ll bet. What, just because my knees are showing? You said I looked great! It’s Portland! The receptionist has blue hair and a pierced nose!”
“Baby,” he said. “Hang on.” She was practically hyperventilating. He wasn’t sure if she was mad or scared or … what. “You did look great. You do look great. And, yeah, you can look great and still look pregnant. You look classy, is what it is. He’s just not used to you being hot. And he’s out of line,” he decided to add. “I’m going to come over and tell him so. He doesn’t get to talk to you about your necklace and your hemline. Screw that.”
“Oh, boy,” she said. “He just walked in. Hang on.” He heard her say, “Blake. It’s the ladies’ room. There’s a reason they call it that. It’s for women.”
“I wanted to talk to you in private,” Harlan heard Blake say.
He said, “Jennifer.” Then he shouted it. “Jennifer.”
“I have to go,” she said.
“No, you don’t. Put him on. I need to talk to him. Now.”
He heard Jennifer saying, “Harlan wants to talk to you.”
A second, then, “Yeah? What do you want?”
Yep. That was the quarterback, all right. “You’re out of line,” Harlan informed him. “Way out of line.”
“Yeah,” Orbison said. “Dakota just told me that.”
“And you thought your best next move would be to find Jennifer in the ladies’ room?”
“Privacy,” Orbison pointed out.
“Privacy, hell.” Harlan was always cool. He was famously cool. He wasn’t cool now. “Get out of there. She’s the one who gets privacy. If you want to talk to her, you take her to the … lobby. To a coffee shop. To a conference room. Wherever. You don’t get to talk to her in the ladies’ room!”
He heard Jennifer saying, “I can fight my own battles.” He’d bet she was reaching for the phone, too.
He told Blake, “Tell her that I still have something to say,” and waited while Orbison did it. The sound got less echo-y, which hopefully meant that they were out of the frigging bathroom. “You ready to hear it?” he asked.
Orbison sounded resigned. “Guess I asked for it.”
“You bet you did. Jennifer looks beautiful today. I know, because she showed me. She looks beautiful, and she looks professional. What the hell are you giving her shit about it for? Don’t you know how nervous she is? Do you have any idea how many hours she’s spent studying all your crap so she’ll be prepared for today? Do you have a single clue how much she fights for confidence?”
“I know it a whole hell of a lot better than you know it,” Orbison said. “Since she’s worked for me for three years. I know for sure that she doesn’t need somebody pushing her into some kind of kinky sex that she’s not ready for! Especially not when she’s pregnant!”
A squawk from Jennifer, and Harlan had to breathe a couple times. “You aren’t this big of an idiot,” he said. “Back right the hell off. Tell her you were wrong, too, or I’m telling her to quit.”
“Yeah,” Orbison said. “Because you get to do that. How about if you let her make her own decisions?”
“How about if I stick up for the woman I love?”
He didn’t even realize it was out there until a second had passed. Then he said, “And the mother of my child. Our relationship is none of your goddamned business, but for the record: I’m not doing one single thing with her that she doesn’t want. I’m buying her clothes because she’s pregnant, and because, yeah, I want to. If I want to buy her something nicer than she’s used to, I’ve got the money to do it, and I’m enjoying it. If you aren’t doing that for your wife, why the hell not?”
Orbison didn’t seem to have anything to say to that, so Harlan said, “Yeah. I thought so. Put Jennifer back on.”
Orbison said, “You realize I’m …” After that, though, he didn’t seem to know how to go on.
Harlan said, “Yep. You’re nothing but wrong, that’s what I realize. You’re going to have to say it, or I predict she’s going to be walking on out of there. The woman’s a redhead.”
49
A Little Tenderness
His doorbell rang at six that evening. When he went to answer it, it was Jennifer. Still dressed in her work clothes, with those purple shadows under her eyes.