 
Déjà Vu of Love San Francisco

Book Two of a Four Book Series

Carol Cadoo
Printed under the Plein Air Life Banner Copy write 2012
For Zachary David Golden because you always...Are

For Ray Simmons because you'll always...Be

For Danny Robert Waller because you've always...Been

For Lynn Swanson because now...I am
START

TOC

COPYWRITE

DEDICATION

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTERFIFTEEN

Excerpt Déjà vu of Love Zurich
CHAPTER SEVEN

San Francisco, fall 1994 Four A.M. Pacific Once upon a time, a young woman named Jazz Kelly moved to the big city to turn her life into a success...

Seven-Thirty A.M. Pacific

"Hey bitches, it's time to crack your asses out of bed rise and shine, grab your java and let's get this day rolling. We bring the sugar for your coffee and the whiskey for your tea enjoy a brand new cycle of life downtown by the Bay."

The voice bellowed into the room disrupting the tranquil environment creating an echo reverberating, through the meager space. With considerable fanfare, the noise started with a slow rumble then gained volume as the announcer continued.

"We'll start your morning off with all the bells and whistles and those bad boys of the airwaves. Every morning they bring their foolish, engaging personalities into your bedrooms. The guys you love to wake-up next to at Bay102 on the bay, Bubba, and Beefcake."

"What the heck is happening?" Half asleep she realized the clock radio went off, she hit the snooze button and nestled back under the covers.

Five short minutes later the alarm sounded again, but this time, it filled the space with the most intense, brain-numbing sound she'd ever heard. This cornucopia of music definitely not her usual morning radio station fare. Her first clue came in the form of the disturbing lead in read by the devil himself. Jazz blamed herself for the oversight she favored waking to slow, gentle, quiet elevator music mixed with oldies. Versus this style of a wake-up call where heavy metal assaulted her senses before coffee, it sucked. The trick would be to show more care next time she set her alarm no replay of this horror story preferred.

She would have to stick her arm out from under the blanket exposing her bare skin to the frigid temperature, to turn off the noise. The menaces of her morning, Bubba, and Beefcake blared music at maximum volume. The small speaker of her clock radio turned the music into static making her head spun in circles; she became a prisoner of the pulsating beat. She stretched her arm and fingers to their limit to gain more reach, it backfired.

Her hand ended up knocking the radio off the table onto the tile floor. It created a tremendous clatter, and she experienced a rush of disappointment when racket continued playing. The damn thing stayed plugged in the socket the shrieking music merciless in the gray morning. To go beyond the protective cover of the blanket held no appeal. The noise became difficult to tolerate, but the alternative of freezing this early made her cry.

Plus it put her in a rotten mood before she had her coffee and worst of all she had a morning headache. The best relief to hope for a long blacked out rest. She stayed in the fetal position with no possibility of going back to dreamland. The famous singer screamed out his passion for rock music and his hatred for the establishment. His whining and complaining annoyed her, heavy metal musicians had reputations for being tough, not this guy he projected the image of a wimp.

When the singer had finished, the morning DJ's got back on the air announcing the daily call to viewers coming up in the next hour. She moaned in misery before smashing the pillow into her face to resolve the noise problem. Her motivation didn't exist to listen to the music and banter already in motion. The daily call had no chance of being the dangling carrot."

Even though she didn't listen to their show, just about everyone else in town did, daily. She saw their faces on the side of buses and billboards throughout the city, and their antics discussed around the water coolers of the city. Her arm reached out to grab a second pillow to buffer the shrill voices, but it did little good. Her efforts had the same results of filling a spaghetti strainer with sand. After several minutes she found it difficult to breathe and pulled both pillows away from her face.

She slid off the edge of her bed head first keeping half her body under the blanket. She crawled on her elbows towards the clock radio and once she got close enough. Jazz grabbed the cord and jerked it out of the socket at last silence descended. From her prone position, she glanced around the room and realized today she had to deep clean. Stuff scattered in every corner, trash needed to get taken out, and the kitchen scrubbed yeah she reached dump status.

Her use of dumpster dives and, side of the road finds in decorating, far from glamorous but she had created a BOHO chic living space. She yearned for an elegant living space, one fit for a queen. She stole the story line from her most beloved childhood movie memories.

The reality of her world became living in a gloomy place with a poor outlook for her survival. How sad for someone so young to face defeat. Whatever decision she made, to slice the pie it overflowed with money problems. In thirty days her rent would be due again yesterday, she deposited her final unemployment check.

She chided herself for whitewashing the calamity for months and determined from this moment forward. She'd walk her path of wreck and ruin with eyes, wide open. Her descent into impoverishment happened at an alarming speed. Jazz refused to wait for total destitution to knock on her door. Her experience with poverty confirmed it held no allure but regardless of the effort. She admitted her misstep, the cause of her decent on the express elevator to homelessness. Now perched in the gateway to hell she expected a quick fall over the abyss into hopelessness. Her life played out like a Greek tragedy.

Who didn't enjoy a morning of leisure? Despite her less than stellar wake-up, her mind found a little peace over the next few hours. Jazz dozed off and on, and in her waking moments, she appreciated her simple space despite the air and heating issues. Tucked away from civilization, in her urban box this morning it turned into a freezer overnight. The chill meant only one thing during the night the boiler stopped working.

The heat worked; sporadic and the air conditioning non-existent, she lived in a space no larger than a crow's nest atop the building. No warm air got to her on its best day Jazz hoped they installed a new unit but decided not to hold her breath. Once when she brought it up to him, her landlord explained the boiler had gotten installed eighty years ago straight from the factory. She cranked up the thermostat on the electric blanket, thank heavens she made an investment. Jazz closed her eyes she sank deeper into the pile of blankets and quilts.

An hour later she poked her nose into the chill cautious resembling a groundhog checking for spring. She did a double take at the sight of her west-facing windows. Did she see what she thought or, did her eyes play a trick on her? No, she spotted a thin layer of ice coating the glass the sun danced across the walls. It created a room full of rainbows reflecting off the frozen panes as if a bunch of little diamonds sparkled.

When she graduated number four in her class, she quit waiting on tables she did so in the belief her confidence needed to increase during first impressions. The training worked it had no glitz and glamor associated with it. But what a perfect place to learn how to hold her ground.

Due to Rose's life insurance, she sneaked by the last four years subsidized with part-time jobs running the gamut of crazy. She did everything from promoting a fast-food restaurant, dressed up as a hot dog. To a brief career with bedpans in a convalescent home her least favorite selling vacuums door to door.

When she realized how difficult her survival had become, she called Chris Pangborn. But he didn't offer her any help, the trust set up airtight it couldn't get changed. She'd have to wait until her twenty-ninth birthday to access the funds. She'd grown accustomed to counting pennies and eating takeout from Stella's Coffee Shop. The upscale home-style menu satisfied her need for comfort food. To go boxes with their distinct logo lined her fridge.

Had the economy stayed on track and the market didn't take, a huge dive. Things may have turned out different, but California experienced the highest unemployment in recent record. Jazz had thought the perfect job waited for her to claim it. She miscalculated ten months ago and had yet to find it. So her career took longer than having a baby.

During the search, she never got a nibble in any position above the living wage which didn't get her bills paid. She had a degree success shouldn't be far from her future, but's before the humbling experience of no one wanting her. In her naivety, she categorized herself as the cream of the crop from the pool of talent available. She set high standards people might not appreciate her work if she didn't. Confident, she'd catch the world on fire she put everything into the search. Jazz got a real sick laugh at the optimism months later still waiting. Forget the bonfire she hadn't been able to a match after, a slew of unsuccessful interviews. Boy oh boy, reality led to a huge change in her tune her only goal now became to support the Status Quo.

Sabrina jumped on her thighs and then heard her hit the floor. The cat flicked her tail and walked away towards the water bowl meowing in outrage over the empty food bowl. "Okay, Sabrina I'll get your breakfast," Before anything got done, she would have to get out of bed, so she swung her legs over the bed. The sense of being out of sorts persisted, she blamed it on the high-stress lifestyle. Questionable judgment and arrogant choices had cost her plenty no small screw-up here it became life altering. She had to admit when she quit her job in hindsight it was a serious gaffe. There didn't seem to be any going back it had been another error to stay up late last night reviewing. Along with her bank statement and bills and during her financial marathon, she drank too much coffee and ate too many donuts. Her sugar hangover had to be worse than any created by liquor she had a headache, nausea, and the shakes.

Her pledge from this day forth would be to move forward, full tilt boogie and fly by the seat of her pants. Most important never drink a six pack of soda in one sitting again. She stood up and traversed across the room thinking the tile a frozen pond under her bare feet. She muttered through chattering teeth while she shivered with uncontrolled spasms. Her hands shook making it difficult to strike a match.

She had confidence in the small stove flame heating the room given enough time. Besides it was her only hope of getting warm. It spurred her on, as she spun the handles blowing and coaxing the flames to life. Her experience made her confident, but today it didn't happen. Do gasses freeze? She dropped the matchstick right on top of it and bingo the fire jumped into action.

The heat generated immediate relief as she held her hands over the burners and rubbed them together. It encouraged a return of dexterity in her fingertips, and she flexed. It worked she had her grip back, so she grabbed her socks out of the drawer once she slipped into them, she felt sweet relief on her feet.

She used the storage most people used for kitchen supplies as a convenient dresser since the drawers served no other purpose. From the first day she lived there Jazz thought the oven looked dangerous. Even to her untrained eye between the disabled door, and the frayed electrical cord it was a hazard. Besides she didn't need to use it beyond the basics she was untalented in the cooking department.

She believed the oven had the potential of being her demise it was a fire hazard or worse carbon monoxide creator. Her imagination always ran wild with visual pictures of a tasteless, odorless gas killing her as she slept. That's why she became the queen of microwave cooking and to go orders at Stella's the restaurant below her at street level. Jazz had no room for clutter in her tiny place. Everything to make a meal she owned one fork, knife, spoon, plate, and coffee cup. Plus three old jam jars substituted, for beverage glasses. Sure the dream of a well-appointed home always played in her mind. But jam jars and limited dishware had become her lot for now. When entertaining became a fun, exciting experience not an embarrassment then she'd invest.

The Land Barons robbed her on the first of every month for nine hundred plus the cost of her utilities. They threw in an elevator at no extra charge but no guarantee it worked with any regularity. Jazz remembered what the ad said; cozy studio allows you the joys of oceanfront living with an ocean view. Her foster mom Rose had highlighted parts of the ad. No mention of the fact to enjoy the view you'd have to move the refrigerator and stand on tiptoe. An apartment at this price in the heart of the city translated into a deal of the decade. It didn't make it any more affordable even though she and her landlord enjoyed a great relationship. For five years, she had a few issues but never voiced them for fear he'd raise the rent.

She knotted her robe and began the morning ritual of coffee. While she waited for the water to boil, she tackled her door. To get the door open for the first time in the winter proved challenging. It's dreadful to have to take part in a battle before coffee. But wood always expanded and contracted due to the damp weather. It proved a difficult task to open the door if it swelled up the previous night. It had been her experience to become trapped inside the apartment until the atmosphere warmed.

To grab the paper she had to get this damn door opened before the water boiled. She grunted and groaned using every bit of strength she had to muster. The damn thing didn't budge swearing under her breath; she tried one more time. This round she put her foot on the adjoining wall and tugged. It vibrated and shook the jamb because of the force she used then the door broke free. Paranoid someone might spot her on this mission she tiptoed into the hall. After scooping up the paper of the apartment across and down two doors, she ripped it apart and grabbed the classifieds.

She put it back together, with her experience, delivering newspapers it looked undisturbed. As if she had never been there except for the section she kept. She tucked the evidence of her crime in her waistband, the stealth ninja slunk to her apartment. Had she sunk to this level of stealing the classifieds out of her neighbors' paper? Did she have no shame? "Sabrina I'm a sad individual, but in defense of me survival for both of us dictates such thievery."

While she performed the soothing ritual of making coffee in her French Press. She needed to find her happy place and stay with positive thoughts. Relaxed and content she allowed herself a moment to appreciate the good in life.

With a sense of gratitude sipping her morning beverage with a roof over her head, she opened the paper. No more procrastination to avoid the want ads, taking a drink from her coffee mug made her grimace. To her consternation, it had become ice cold. Instead of pouring it in the sink she warmed it back up, so she shoved it in the microwave and hoped for the best. Once the microwaves bell sounded with coffee slumped over the rickety breakfast bar her interest in a particular ad caught her attention. She once again ignored the brew steaming at her elbow. She became engrossed in the mind-numbing task of circling any position she appeared qualified to perform. She also noted a few where it would stretch the boundaries of a fit. Her concentration had a laser focus on the want ads so, much so, she didn't hear the phone ring.

Until, the jarring, sound penetrated her conscious and her startled reaction, caused her knee to hit the unstable counter. She not only rattled the cup but spilled the contents sending a river of coffee across the table surface. What a mess she created there's no towel, so she mopped up the spill with her robe. The sound seemed to grow shriller with each ring, but her focus on the clean-up and not the phone. Who the hell would call this early then it occurred to her?

It struck her a possible employer could be on the line Einstein girl. Her legs bounded across the four feet of space separated her from the telephone. She grabbed the receiver and prayed for an interview, or better yet a job. After a much-needed a second to regroup and breathe she found her center of Chi using and answered with an enthusiastic, professional voice. You never had a second chance to make a first impression.
Chapter Eight

"This is Jazz Kelly how can I help you?"

"Today is your lucky day one of our listeners will win dinner for two, why not let it be you? You'll dine at a great watering hole."

"You have got to be kidding me?" With the receiver cradled between her shoulder and neck, listening to him. Not sure why she didn't hang-up instead stayed on the line and listened.

"Jazz Kelly is the name my finger pointed to in the phone book any thoughts to share this morning? I'm Beefcake, and we want your day to be a California dream." The harsh sounds of the opening volley of the show blared out the noise unbearable.

"What the hell, I can't believe what's happening."

"Oh, girl you're not dreaming it's us at 102 on the Bay, turn down your radio we don't want feedback or echo."

"My radio isn't on, so it's not a problem."

"What do you mean it's not on you don't listen to us Jazz Kelly?"

She had uncertainty for a nanosecond then opened fire on, the radio guy. "I don't enjoy listening or talking to idiots, who call and prank me this early in the morning. Trust me this will not rate as a missed cherished moment. Thanks but I'm not interested in playing the game."

She got ready to hang up before things became worse she didn't need the hassle she had no energy to waste on this Bozo. Seconds from hanging up on Bubba or Beefcake his next statement got her attention.

"The city like us awaits your reply we'll sweeten the pot with dinner for two how does it sound, is it good for you? This excellent opportunity brought to you by everyone's favorite morning drive guys. Now come on let's play the game."

"Screw you I'm not interested."

"We can get a hot date for you, everyone we've got a shy girl let's give her love. Hello, we can't hear you, hey, is she still on the line are we connected?"

Like a rabbit in the headlights paralyzed with fear her eyes darted around for an escape route, but none appeared. The stress she experienced whenever she spoke in class rose in her throat. Jazz stretched the phone and cord to as far as it reached to pour the remains of the pot into her cup.

Whether it hot or not, she needed the effects of caffeine and thank god it tasted warm. The liquid soothed her and the thought she'd resolve this without being a loser and qualifying for the dinners entered her head. If she played the game and won those dinners it would beat takeout, it might last for three or four days.

If she didn't pig out, on the first two nights the dinners blessing would be food for the week. It didn't seem to be a difficult choice since her current selections included Top Ramen in beef, chicken or shrimp. Her taste buds activated thinking of a steak and quickly became her incentive to talk with these idiots.

The refrigerator standing alone in the corner, empty and deserted made the final decision easy she gave into craziness. For job interviews her first choice to look good rather than gaunt and near death from starvation. She inhaled warm air deep into her lungs, and took the last swig of coffee, ready for food or bust time.

To answer the questions proved easy they wanted her to name the actress who played in the movie named after a famous jewelry store. Oh yeah, this one as good as in the bag once these two clowns finished their banter.

She awaited the opportunity to give the answer and win her dinners then she'd move on with her day. The DJ's came back on the line and asked for her answer she tried to speak and nothing. Her stage fright came up and bit her in the butt unable to utter a syllable. Then they took the joke too far, "Come on girl talk or are you bitchy this morning what is there to hide."

"Hey, Beef maybe she's in witness protection program?"

"No Bub she might talk, from her married lover's bed or something."

"Why cop a tone when we're trying to help?"

"Bubby let's reassure Jazz we're not attempting to get ass, at least not for us. We only want an answer to the question."

"Listen, little girl, we want to give away a few frees dinners. This is the way it goes are you in or not? It's real simple, come on lady you've used up your time. We gotta, go to break then be ready for the guest of the day quiz Jazz, will it be you?"

"No, it will not be me go find another sucker."

"My advice would be to play the game, am I right Beef?" Then he screamed into the mike. "This prize can be yours what do you say Jazz?"

"Listen, whoever your are screw off, how dare you call, me and expect me to humiliate myself for your ratings."

"We won't continue if you don't want us to but if there's something you need to share with our listeners and us?"

"Let me explain to you one last time I dub the two of you Moron and the Neanderthal boy. How's it working for you? I'll work on the whole sense of humor suggestion."

"Lady, you have a future as a mean persona because you're above average in the department?"

"So I'm told many times from people who are better acquainted with me, it's not an original thought."

"Geez Bub, she's a firecracker."

"No, I'm unemployed, I used to have a job, and well I worked until hard times and questionable judgment changed things. I'm not a student I graduated with a degree in marketing and public relations." While she worked at remaining calm, it didn't work.

"It sounds interesting but do you have an answer to the question."

As if no one had interrupted her tangent she continued. "Third, in my class of twenty-five hundred, I can tell you it's no easy task when a girl has to do it on her own."

She attempted to hold back her tears after a few hiccups and sniffs. Jazz swallowed hard and continued in a shaky voice. "I'm living in a dump, driving a shell of an automobile so decayed with corrosive rust it will disintegrate, at any minute."

"Honest girl, we think it's awful for anyone who goes through these things. Can I call you by your name?"

She got on a roll, and a cathartic sense of release from her stress endorphins to emerge as she continued her rant unabated. "In thirty, days, I'll be homeless without a roof over my head. I'm out of transit passes and will sleep in my freaking car off to the left of the bridge but, no one even cares."

"Whoa, plenty of people care for you."

"No, Mr. Hotshot radio man they don't, we live in the real world. Is it fair, no, but now ever made the promise of fairness or equality."

"Come on joking aside it's not right somebody should be there to help you." Bubba did his best to salvage this shit magnet. But disaster hung in the air her tangent continued.

"I need my phone to get a job it can't be busy with your ridiculous, counterproductive behavior. This isn't for dates, dinners or morning drive personalities."

"We don't want to intrude, but it's obvious you need the help."

"You're right, so do something else and stop tieing up this line. It needs to be available for employers to call. So they can give me a job, I'll take anything, but I need it to happen in enough time, to prevent my starving."

During the following silence while she stopped to breathe; panting and sick to her stomach the two DJ's made sympathetic sounds. In her mind, it wouldn't hurt to get it together a tad bit instead, of screaming banshee style. After a brief break to catch her breath she continued, unabated in her diatribe. "With everything going wrong I'm still a cockeyed optimist, so I'll keep on thinking positive thoughts. I'm not a whack job who wants or needs, her fifteen minutes."

She looked around her counter for a tissue and grabbed a towel to blow her nose smack into the receiver. "Boys, I will not waste my time playing crazy ass games trying to turn normal people into complete idiots."

Bubba spoke in a flippant tone, "You have no worries the game doesn't do you justice in the mean department." He spoke like he shared a leering private joke. She cleared her throat and coughed hoping to get rid of the nasal quality with little success. Whenever she cried, her nose got plugged up, and her voice morphed into one more appropriate for a cartoon character. She hated the impression it made she lost credibility. "I have now become a complete fool on your classless radio show because I need those free dinners to survive."

She gave into the tears and rage, forgetting for a brief moment the entire city listened in on her meltdown. It released a cathartic sense of relief after being without her therapist for eighteen months. She rolled it into a full-blown breakdown her sobs and shrieks of a wounded animal. Her mind equated this event to emotional vomit her pathetic attempt to recover a modicum of pride. The truth instilled a new sense of identity and freedom. Not sure where the audacity to dump her emotional garbage on the most popular radio show in the city. Regardless of how she tried her mouth continued non-stop, she sounded like a crazy ranting lunatic.

This morning she became the lamb led through the garden maze to slaughter. Jazz understood the enormity of her public temper fit embarrassed, and in a panic, she hit the button disconnecting her from the on-air humiliation.

She sat in a stunned silence her reckless behavior came as a total shock. It seemed way out of her usual method of operating. Awkward is the word she'd use to describe this recent foible. It allowed her to recognize there might have been a more subtle way to have handled the whole thing.

Next time it wouldn't hurt to change up the venue and presentation of her venting sessions. She decided it next time she'd go more low-key keeping it private instead of citywide. These two jerks as far from a therapist as anyone can allow her to see she had hit rock bottom.

Her paper thefts were only the start of her moral decline this rated as a record low. Did this radio show rate leaving behind a piece of her soul and for what, a free meal? "Sabrina, I never answered the damn question, I wonder if it disqualified me for the dinners?"

Jazz continued to wonder aloud with her cat. "Oh, Beany is there no limit to my shame?" When she thought the situation got as bad as possible, it got worse after she tuned back in to listen. She was curious to see if she still got the dinners the two DJ's milked the moment of her meltdown on the air for everyone to hear. On a personal level, she found it humiliating as they played and replayed her howling soliloquy. Stark, raving mad came to mind, compelled to listen.

Her self-abuse had no boundaries as she forced herself to listen each time it replayed. When her signature nose blow played, and they referred to her as the nose job heard across the city, she died. Pros at sucking their victim into their joke it became clear she's no exception to rule. Each time they sounded off on the airwaves nefarious and infamous listeners responded to the guest with open hostility. These poor lambs being led to slaughter had their deepest secrets exposed.

They had a massive force of devotees who explored each sordid story and called in information. No one, not the viewers or host found any satisfaction in the game until the victim humiliated and disgraced their self.

Today they planned on making her the person no way, not today or any day. To reject wearing the label of Clown de jour around the water cooler joke status. Waves of shame washed over her when she concerned herself with what people thought of her.

She groaned out loud burying her head in both arms? They wanted their listeners to stay tuned during the commercials. Before each break, they promised another unedited playback of her kvetching as Flight of the Bumble Bee played between her nose blowing and hysterics. She had trouble not laughing at her performance had it not been so tragic and sad.

Several hours later while taking a break from the housework she had to admit after listening to the show all morning there seemed to be entertainment value. Her commitment to turn the whole fiasco into a positive learning experience might be difficult. But, Jazz convinced her ego the entire episode had a silver lining she didn't see earlier. Her feeling of pride for standing her ground was mixed with gratitude for the opportunity to get a job. There lived a few interesting, legitimate, offers among the strange and weird. The abject humiliation became a blessing in disguise. She got so absorbed in the recorded conversations of people presenting their companies as potential employers on air at a rapid rate.

To her complete amazement, the miracle seemed all about believing something good would happen. Her Foster Mom called it willing the event into fruition. She had hope for salvation, granted a few jobs sounded weird, but work getting paid is all she needed.

If it ended up the catalyst to a public relations position, then she'd be impressed. These two goofballs got results, in ten minutes of air time, versus the nine months of hard searching she did. Since her graduation, she had received zip as offers after her first interview. For the rest of the morning calls dribbled in inquiries on her sent resume.

But everything seemed to change for the better in thirty seconds she had peace within and a hope of optimism.

Her eyes shut standing under the tepid water she heard the phone her first thought to ignore it changed. When she considered it might be someone with the job leads from the show. She cut the shower short she grabbed her robe and followed the ring on an exasperating hunt. Her frustration grew as she moved pillows the loud bell continued to echo. At last, she found the phone under a stack of papers. She pulled the receiver out by the dangling cord while she dug for the base.

"Yeah hello?"

"Hi, may I speak with Jazz."

"This is Jazz."

"Good afternoon Jazz, are you enjoying your new found celebrity?"

"Well to be honest intimidating is a better word, who are you?" She wondered how this man found her number. Unsure of what this call might bring her way after a morning full of surprises. She decided in a split second, to err on the side of her impulse and enjoy the spontaneity. "It's Phillip Miller with the Daily newspaper." She stood dripping in disbelief this guy a favorite columnist hers had gotten nominated for a Pulitzer. Why on earth would he want to speak with her?

He explained, his goal to meet her had selfish reasons he hoped to understand her history to write about in a feature. His self-proclaimed addiction to the morning radio show, this morning sparked his imagination. Her day earmarked for fantasy all this for a girl who never expected a happily ever, until death blah, blah.

Jazz stopped trying to dissect it but rather just enjoy the crazy time living in a fairytale. Experience and too much truth compromised the ability to accept the premise of happy endings or fairy tales. For her, it never happened, but the Columnist who might be her fantasy Prince Charming. She might need to rethink her position on where she might meet Mr. Right. It gets rough searching because there were so many frogs to kiss.

Phillip explained his ability in human interest the reason he got chosen for this choice gig. He enjoyed the man, the woman on the street stuff. His instinct lay in telling stories people like to read, his interest lay with people who have to discuss tough issues in their lives.

Impressed with how good of a story he told with his work she read a series of articles several months ago. Jazz recalled the focus of the story centered on domestic violence against men. The feature had been well-written and allowed the reader to get to understand the person.

She had to admit his credentials and charm impressed her and gave her something to take for a mental test drive on a dull day. She gave no flat refusal, she played for time. It's not because she wanted to be wishy-washy or boring but, did she want the whole world in on the minutia of her life?

Then again concern over what act or person might be her foot up on a dream job. It doesn't hurt to meet for a coffee, and she acknowledged her ego got a tremendous boost. They agreed to meet for coffee later in the afternoon. In the meantime, she had two things to wrap up like getting a hold of the DJ's for starters. She left a message on their voice mail everybody used the damn machines except her.

Firm in her conviction, civilization managed for fifty years without an answering machine. She saw no upside to adding to the complexity of life and installing one in her home. Hesitant, she thanked them for their experimental method of job searching.

Jazz requested a copy of the offers, so she had them to use. With self-determination, she decided this opportunity for employment didn't come along twice in a girl's life. Her plan centered on contacting each potential employer. Blessing them and their unborn children but not before she promised to mention them in her prayers forever.

She ended the trailing message as the memory of her stilted speech and wooden delivery, played back in her mind.

By the time late afternoon rolled around she no longer asked the question why someone with journalistic street cred had an interest, in her story. She still didn't believe her mundane and trivial life story had stirred up interest. Halfway there she wondered how she allowed herself to get talked into this journey through the desolate landscape of winter. Oh right, when she suggested meet at her house Phillip told her a crowded cafe protected them both. "Never mind I called you from the newspaper it shouldn't matter it's safer for you to always be suspicious."

"I refuse to pander to the lowest common denominator of human nature."

"Well for the first meeting it makes you smart now listen the paper is considering this story for the business section."

"If you run it there, I can think of nothing more helpful and I'd be appreciative." After she had hung up, she had mixed feelings healthy dose of optimism balanced with an instinct for survival.

"Sabrina, is this the light at the end of a dark tunnel? Or, is this an oncoming train?" Only time would tell the story Jazz planned to meet the reporter at a French bistro and bakery. Whatever his reasons for interviewing her she didn't care his offer of strong coffee and fresh goodies. She had no clue how to resist the wooing?

The trip across town without bus passes required leaving a few hours early and put one foot in front of the other. With no other choice but walking she layered up throwing on her hippest BOHO Chic outfit. She had put the outfit with expert precision to impress and ward off the bone-chilling wind. Her jacket hung on the hook by the door, and it became her final outer layer, Jazz hurried out into the late afternoon.

Thirty minutes later with a casual gait, she strolled through the winding maze of street vendors. On any other day, she took her time in a cloud of curiosity shopping in the different countries. But today it got cut short when the weather appeared dangerous. The sky rumbled and cracked, and the vendors closed their Kiosks in rapid order. It disappointed her because the walk took longer than expected and she arrived too late to linger at each merchant stall. The open air market allowed people to touch and smell everything. The booths held an incredible array of items from different smells and textures. Disappointed she didn't get to dawdle because of the rain she pressed forward. To avoid looking a drowned rat, she recognized the need for speed before the downfall started. So she grabbed a few staples and scurried into the wet fog.

Once past the outdoor market, she moved with purpose, to arrive at the designated place before the impending deluge dropped buckets of water. Distracted in her mind with the musing of what the outcome might be of this meeting? She continued her arctic expedition across town and contemplated what to order the restaurant they agreed to meet. It had become the place for pastries. She got a definite chill from the air and hoped the coffee would be as hot and delicious as the reviews promised. The cafe received killer reviews for their dynamite food. But the real selling point of the place hinged on the reputation for perfect desserts. She wanted a payoff for the effort the storm had become intense and wet. When a thought hit her, funny bone laughter tinged with giddiness burst out one of these cream puffs would be a more interesting interview. Here as a customer on her way to being ensconced in a sexy upholstered booth.

This day had turned around her life, and it started at six o'clock this morning. Her world switched from ho-hum to warp speed. In the few short hours before, she agreed to despair. Now, powerful and on a roll; Jazz planned on taking advantage of every opportunity her karma made available.

She rounded a corner; and there it sat what a cool, great first meeting place. In a flash, the sun broke out of the clouds and the rays of light shined on top of her head. For her, it represented a positive moment for things to comes she looked at the delicacies displayed in the window.

After a few minutes, she pinched her arm to reassure herself she sat in the relaxed warmth of the Patisserie. Her taste bud salivated when she thought of the delicious concoctions available. Throughout her final leg she remained hopeful, he'd order the house specialty. The three-tiered tray designed for two created by the Chef. She vowed to taste each one of them twice. If she got lucky within minutes, she'd be sipping tea out of real porcelain cups enjoying the best sweets in the city.

She got through the first uncomfortable minutes passed. The interview seemed to go well from her perspective and lasted for two hours. Her instinct had been right not only a respected journalist but amiable and a trustworthy as a human being. His kind eyes never left her face; his voice melodic often with an underlying richness and timber. They chatted comfortable together as he asked questions made it easier to respond to the conversation.

Jazz impressed with the style he used to elicit information became more relaxed than she expected to with an interview. Her heart spilled out, and she expressed her thoughts on life now versus the past and future. But he insisted he needed a free shot with no competition which meant curbing her media appearances. "Sure, I can ah, yeah, no problem on the exclusivity." She gained confidence in her ability and assured him a do-over with Beefcake and Bubba she'd happily do without. Her reaction to this man bordered on total enchantment; he charmed her coming.

The Englishman's demeanor screamed stable and sincere. His British accent sounded sexy, in a stuffy Professor Henry Higgins meets James Bond way. They agreed to meet the next day. He planned to arrive at eleven if worked for her, and it did. Phillip insisted on sending her home in a cab.

She didn't argue, and accepted his offer with relief, she hated late wet nights. Her street smarts gave her the confidence if a mugger did come after her bag of pastries she'd handle it. But, if thieves looking for an easy mark had a thought of rolling her for cream puffs she had no problem defending her goodies.

Ready for a short warm cab ride beat a long, hike across town but concerned how it looked accepting the offer. "Jazzeline this will go on my expense account, and the paper wants you safe." He raised his hand and hailed a cab enough the first cab pulled to the curb.

Phillip arrived the next morning ready to get into the minutia of Jazz's life he looked exuberant. He told her he spent the evening reviewing her life. His POV and inspiration came from her honest and heartfelt retelling of her story. Phillip projected a real human quality his professional persona and the private man had a comforting consistency.

He never strayed from the consummate professional while her monolog became a cathartic verbal stream. Less committed writers might get distracted with this style of interview. His choice to stay silent but engaged with his expressions and body language was a good one. Except for a few prodding questions Phillip sensed when she needed him to throw a life preserver. It served its purpose sending her into the direction; he wanted her to go. Once he noted the full and complete sequence of events as she lived them, he continued to question her.

His style of questioning allowed her to contribute in a small way to the world. As if she had something worth hearing and maybe all her past lessons learned did not happen in vain. She thought the whole day had been crazy, but here she sat being interviewed by a Pulitzer nominee.

She allowed her thoughts to stray and questioned the ever-flustered this man? Phillip reminded her of the description she read of the Dali Lama. His speech patterns reflected his kindness it spoke mellow and low key.

He encouraged his subjects to open their hearts and discuss the most embarrassing minutia. Jazz shared personal stuff she hadn't told a living soul. No one got a bigger surprise than her when she didn't stop. She shared stories, described the people, places, and events. Without interrupting but interjecting questions after each one of her answers the free flowing conversation filled two tapes and copious notes. Other than the one moment of panic when she realized he planned to tape the conversation. For the second time, she questioned the wisdom of being too open about everything going on in her life.

Her willingness to ignore the inner voice warning to stop spoke of her good vibe she had from Phillip. Several hours and pastries later with a man she'd never met. In discussions which detailed the deepest secrets buried for years, but the dam had burst. The flood of pain, sorrow, and joy came crashing out of her mouth. She shared intimate details as Phillip sat in the banquette listening digesting her thoughts; occasionally, he'd nod and made small guttural sounds of compassion.

No matter how shocking the information she answered in a self-appraising style. By doing it this way, she sensed he had empathy for her pain. As she relived her life in front of him, the sense of freedom began the fear of being consumed by her history lifted. They say confession is good for the soul and more truthful than she ever been with anyone. When she vacillated, Phillip asked a random question and another log jam of emotion released. She laid out her thoughts, emotions, and feelings for him to select or reject as part of the story.

Her effort to recover from disappointment when he shut the notebook didn't come easy. Jazz's sadness was tempered with a touch of regret, not for her life, but because she wanted more time with him. She found him appealing and on impulse, she offered him something to drink. But she became flustered remembering her cupboards had nothing in them. She had no tea milk or sugar, but she had great cream puff leftovers. Her house appeared devoid of accouterments to make it a home.

"On second thought why don't I get you a delicious glass of tap water? Served in this priceless turn of the decade jelly jar?"

"I can't believe you offered me a glass of water in a jar?"

"Phillip it's a jelly jar embossed with etchings, of vines and birds. The chips in the rim are to give an authentic flavor."

Phillip always polite mentioned a need to buy a pack of smokes. She informed him they sold cigarettes at the Bodega street level. Jazz didn't want smoke in her house, but she hesitated to voice her feelings for fear of sounding rude. Instead, she rummaged around for an improvised ashtray settling on an empty soup can from her dinner last night. Her hands washed out the recovered trash item while her mind buzzed around. She noted the need to improve her homemaking skills.

By stocking up on necessities when she had extra money the effort required for her to have a few supplies. So next time she'd be ready for impromptu entertaining. She'd be in a better position to be a host without abject humiliation entering the mix.

Phillip came back in fifteen minutes laden with three bags of groceries. His sweet gesture of offering them as a gift it touched her heart. "Please let me help out I don't want you starving to death before a job comes."

"I can't a man paying for me in life, no."

"Jazz I have seen cabinets devoid of nutritional ingredients."

"Oh, stop Phillip I'm going shopping this weekend. You caught me in between paydays."

Touched by his thoughtful and considerate demeanor she accepted the gift; a girl needed to eat. There didn't seem to be a way to predict when the first paycheck might happen. While he prepared a tray, he insisted she relax and keep him company. He claimed her delightful disposition and sparkling wit responsible for his concern. They chatted comfortable with one another enjoying the afternoon it became an old world experience. "Thanks, Phillip this has been the classiest afternoon of recent memory."

"I spoke to my editor last night; he wants to send over a photographer. We need pictures of you, for the story. You won't mind, will you?"

"Shots of me, are you sure it's what you should do Phillip?"

"You're the feature of the story, and you'll do fine don't forget to take a few with your hair up messy." He reached over and pulled a few more tresses of hair out on each side of her face.

"Sure whatever makes you happy my goal is to be trustworthy and efficient?" They talked, laughed, drank two pots of tea, and ate a box of chocolates. She sipped expensive brandy out of cheap recycled jelly jars had him reacting in horror. He vowed with Shakespearian intensity to gift her correct snifters for their next foray, on his honor. When Phillip left to go home, she stayed leaning up against the door staring at him. She had to concede to herself his reference to future encounters held interest for her.

But then he asked her to sign the release form which set her back a step. It isn't the way she wanted it to play out as an end to the meeting. She assumed he'd write a story, let her read it, and then she had had time to decide. Phillip wanted her to resolve any issues now before he wrote the article. After she had mentioned her concerns, the vibe had a different aura.

Jazz, however, awarded ten points to her side for the decision-making skills. Through with making excuses she came clean sharing her concerns. She began with her fear of the future if the whole city read her deepest secrets. She'd discover over time if this ended up the positive experience she expected. She hung in the balance of giving permission, but when she reviewed the details, it sounded intrusive. He said he understood, but she didn't believe him, and he didn't look happy.

"Phillip, nothing personal but I have to be sure with what the outcome will be for me. It's not a matter of backing out just give me time to think about it. I want to have peace with the decision."

"I understand but remember a girl who is living the same ugly gray existence right now at this moment."

"Don't pull the guilt trip card it's not fair."

"Jazz, let me tell the story of survival so kids everywhere have hope they can make it in the world."

"Phillip I understand the message you don't have to play translator."

"Here's the solution if you agree with my message, let me run the story, simple."

Phillip's enthusiasm surprised her she didn't find it necessary to share his passion. But, no sense rocking the boat most writers of Phillips caliber needed this energy, to propel acclaimed works. She agreed to come to terms with her decision overnight and call him by the next morning with her decision.

Her final commitment to him was she'd decide by noon the next day, so he had time to cancel the photographer if, she backed out. Phillip reassured her he wanted her to have the time to resolve her issues. But, as a reporter, he hoped she'd grasp the importance of her story being told. He handed her a card with a smile or grimace depending on whose perspective you believed he crossed to the door. Meanwhile, he didn't act mad just disappointed as if their time together had been a waste. She had second thoughts, but several job interviews had gotten scheduled for the next week. If the article didn't happen, it wouldn't be the end of the world.

She also might have a smidgen of a crush on Phillip, not love but one anchored in awe and respect. He had enough years on her a romance didn't enter her head. They appeared to be compatible, and he accepted her at a base level she hoped he respected her boundaries. He had the whole package confident, suave and his smile created a positive aura around him. His aura struck her as a guy with a lot of class even when he drank expensive brandy out of crude jelly jar glass. It had been an elegant afternoon regardless of the uneasy end.

Three days at elapsed since her first meeting with Phillip and she had not committed to going forward. He dropped by the night before, to check in he brought one of her favorites, Chinese food. Still, she had not been ready to jump into it neck deep. When he left disappointment followed him out the door. Jazz didn't want to blow this because of fear of a vanity piece running in the newspaper. The job interviews had been positive, but it she had no intention of blowing a possible opportunity this miracle provided.

She enjoyed spending the following day curled up on her couch wrapped in her quilt, made by Rose. The thick wool of the yarn kept her warm and cozy like a good hug. The history of the Afghan created a weird hominess and increased her sense of security. During her break from the crazy world of job search central.

Jazz ate leftover Chinese food and watched the Film Noir festival on her small television with the scratch screen. She looked forward to a full day of movies, unrivaled by any other form of entertainment. The purpose of her day began with a relaxed schedule; her plan was to spend the day enjoying the sounds of the raging storm pounding the city. She shivered from the lingering head cold she picked up the day she met Phillip. Her electric blanket wrapped spread out on the couch to ward off the damp air. She sipped the hot tea laced with a liberal dose of brandy and sugar. Positive the brandy had the potential of becoming her next addiction. Phillips buying spree had paid for the extravagant supplies.

While the next commercial break happened, she noticed the red light on her answering machine, blinking. It came from Phillip with her new ceramic coffee cups. He brought a set of crystal brandy snifters and insisted on giving her a loan of cash. She committed to him to repay his kindness, but he dismissed it as a gift to friend. Her raspy voice filled the room with a stiff greeting reminiscent of a B-movie actor. Even worse, it translated a raspy and twice as low due to the distortion on the audio recorder.

Cringing and praying to have it end at last the beep sounded and voices other than hers took control. Jazz noticed several messages blinking, so she grabbed the paper and a pencil to make notes. Caller four sounded like a woman's voice giving the call letters of the number one rated station in the city. Frustration mounted looking for the replay button in a fury, she banged on all the buttons. Her method worked, and sweet relief flowed when she heard the recognizable voice of the female anchor.

"Hello, um, yeah, I'm looking for Jazz Kelly Mims Costa here with WJLO. If you get this message Ms. Kelly, I'm interested in your story." Jazz paused the recording proud of herself for learning the trick. She hit the rewind, button and replayed the message often euphoric at the possibilities of this opportunity.

"My viewers want to hear what emotions you go through in this day and age. With no family or close associates, those are the questions I have." Mim's sounded out of breath, and the tape stopped but not before she left her number.

"I'm interested in what effect two shock jocks had, in your future. Now are the basics the long and short of the story if you'll call me." — Mims Costa had become hands-down the favorite local TV personality. She listened with full attention soaking in each word for the umpteenth time and pinched herself realizing Mims wanted her as a guest on her morning show.

Shouldn't she, at least, consider the possibility? Jazz had guilt for the mere fact she listened to the message. She, at last, saw the value of an answering machine her dilemma was over, there only remained one more.

Given the fact, she promised Phillip not to speak to other news agencies Mims qualified as one for sure. She had iconic standing in this city the biggest problem had more to do with the two weeks elapsing since Phillip and the interview. His claim to a severe case of writer's block brought on by the personal fast developing feelings for her.

Phillip said it he didn't have trouble when his subject wasn't a unique young woman who hooked him on sight. He claimed it altered his ability to tell an impartial story. Regardless, of how tempted the offer sounded to call Mims, she didn't want to do it. Personal ethics made it impossible for her to betray Phillip she didn't do ruthless and dishonorable. She learned from Larry her word had to be unbreakable. Her rationale as weak as it may sound had to do with the non-existent time frame.

Nothing changed the fact she put no time restraint in place with Phillip. Tomorrow she'd change the arrangement Philip had to give her an end date. Ashamed she'd consider jumping camp to Mims team. She assured herself no one else would look out for her future. The truth remained there were worse things in life than the anchor of a news team calling for a chat.

Her daydreams took flight, and she strolled through great fiction happy endings. No sense for her to get excited she turned her itty-bitty television towards the bed. She pulled back her and climbed in and made smoke rings out of the frosty air. Her mind wandered and although she liked to be an optimist by nature. She had to hold firm to her dreams of success her life would be a story with a happy ending, wealth, and fame. There's no room for doubt one as if to confirm her thoughts the boiler spat and hiss.

She got excited with the effort displayed by the old girl in the basement it's an inspiration. First, the radiator rattled and with a loud rumble it worked, and while the heater labored away, the sounds became her lullaby.

Jazz Kelley woke up two weeks later on a typical Sunday morning in San Francisco. The smell of fish permeated the air, compressed between the layers of fog. To Jazz, it was as if Mother Nature made the distinct scent as a custom potpourri made special for San Francisco.

Oh, how she loved this city if the world was her oyster, this city became her pearl. Jazz was optimistic on mornings like today she pulled back her curtains. Opened the windows and let the brisk morning sea air wash over the room the only luxury she had in her tiny apartment. But even the tacky surroundings didn't dampen her spirit. She threw on her sweats and grabbed her wallet she was going to buy herself a latte and croissant.

Today's events warranted a newspaper of her own to read she got dressed in warm clothes. This was the Sunday Phillips story ran in the business section, and she wanted to read the final product. Jazz slipped out of her door and walked as quiet as she possible along the hallway. She passed the door of her paper thievery and it swung open. "Don't think you'll be stealing my newspaper today you classified stealing tart."

She reacted with horror he was right there on her face there was no defense of her behavior. Instead, she lowered her face in shame and ran for the stairs. No way was she going to prolong the humiliating experience waiting for the elevator. She didn't think he knew she was taking his classified sections. To think she had stooped to the level of being a classified stealing tart a goal no girl set ever.

Stella's was Jazz's answer to a convenience store it saved her money besides she didn't cook. The food was cheap, good, and plentiful she bought a few dinners and stretched it out. When she entered the restaurant Jazz embarrassed to see her picture on the front page of the business section. There she was Jazz Kelly taking up most of the page posted right next to the register.

It was full color with a note of the page her story ran. The picture taken right here in Stella's was incredible. She guessed Phillip handled picking the one they ran he had a thing for messy updo hairstyles.

When she dropped by, she sometimes got intimidated by locals who hung out relaxing on a Sunday morning. Every customer who was a customer of any regularity greeted Jazz. She lived upstairs for heaven sakes they'd seen her for years and never looked twice at her.

Her position as a regular but not a mover and shaker guaranteed she didn't get greeted by the owner. They had never shared a conversation other than her needs as a customer. The proud owner whose name graced the entrance did not distribute her charm equal to every guest.

Stella never waited on Jazz; to be honest she never so much as acknowledged her existence. Throughout the four years, she had patronized the place. Stella was busy barking out orders to poor, overworked, employees who made Jazz's latte.

The queen bee mingled with the upscale customers only but this morning Jazz sensed a new vibe coming from Stella. She was treating her as one of those anointed movers and shakers. While she enjoyed the celebrity attention, there was a small bit of shame.

She shouldn't be enjoying it so much, but there was no stopping the rush of fame. Tomorrow she'd go back to being Jazz Kelley nobody but today sipping her latte. Stella had promised to deliver a fresh-baked croissant still warm from the oven.

"Here you go our specialty of the house filled with Gouda cheese and ham glazed with an apricot preserve. My way of saying thanks for getting us the plug in the paper."

She had a ravenous hunger sweep over her recalling other customers rave over this breakfast croissants. It was legendary people stood in line to pay eighteen dollars for one of these croissants. Featured in People Magazine 's how hot they were, Stella offered the croissant which they baked fresh every morning.

Stella hugged and kissed air with her two more before making her way out the door. With the balance of her decadent breakfast croissant in a Togo bag. Then Stella sent a busboy running after her with a refill of her latte with extra foam. Yes, Jazz smiled celebrity is where it's at fleeting or not.

Jazz returned home opening her paper with as much dramatic flair possible as she passed 5G. Her phone was ringing as she approached her apartment she thought it might be Mims Perkins trying to call again. To open her front door, always took effort it stuck most of the time.

Over the years Jazz learned how to free the door with manual labor, she slammed her body into the door frantic to get on the other side. Her whole body weight worked the door flew open, and Jazz ran for the phone, but to her chagrin it was dead. Forty-five minutes later Jazz was rereading for the third time Phillips story. It was as if he understood Jazz better than anyone. He unveiled her layers to display a struggling swan morphing from an ugly duckling.

The series of photos were breathtaking what a photographer the kid is good. Phillips writing style got a tad sappy describing Jazz, but it was her opinion. She is an auburn-haired, green-eyed vision. Jazz Kelley radiated warmth, youth vitality coupled with an intelligent, quirky look in her eyes. On second thought maybe it was a quirky tilt of her head. She gave the illusion this world amazed and amused her. As if the color of the sun in her universe was a different color than the one in everyone else's world.

Overall a great feature story vowing not to reread the description there was a limit to vanity. But Jazz's gaze kept being drawn back to the picture amazed at how good she looked. Between high school and college graduation and with the help of Eric who did her first makeover she grew into her pretty. She still saw Eric twice a month for her hair, and he kept her updated on makeup trends. But the ugly, gawky Jazzeline Kelly had grown into a hip, BOHO styling, upscale Jazz Kelly, girl P.R. Rep. She was wrestling with whether she should call him and thank him for the wonderful story.

Not sure what the protocol for calling a reporter Jazz hesitated she did not want to offend Phillip. He was so kind and sweet to her weighing her options she considered a brief thank you note or voicemail. She settled on the voice mail, she didn't expect Phillip to return her call within seconds.

They ended up chit chatting for thirty minutes before Phillip asked Jazz a few pointed questions. "So tell me, my dear, why are you flustered I know it's not the article although your approval means everything. I'm happy the telling of your story touched you. So what else are you champing at the bit to say?"

Her heart spilled everything out including her guilt and the call from Mims along with her wish to return the call. Phillip assured her it would make him look good and instructed her to call at once he insisted. "You've kept Ms. Perkins waiting too long. Promise you'll join me for dinner I want to hear the fabulous things Mims has in store for you. Trust me it'll be worth the effort because I promise you Mims roll, first class."

Jazz's intent was not to wangle a dinner date but there it was for the taking. Flattered with Phillips attention it annoyed her when he shared his wardrobe advice. "Jazz please, wear something professional not one of your gypsy outfits." Her hackles got raised for a moment over his paternal tone but said nothing she didn't want to cause bad feelings.

Mims spent the last week and a half playing with a brilliant idea. She was hooked on the notion the moment her assistant alerted her to the phenomenon taking place on her ex-husbands morning show. Mims fascinated right along with everyone else in San Francisco by the phenomenon known as Little Orphan Jazzie.

Her killer instinct smelled a rating bonanza coupled with an opportunity to screw her ex-husband. Not the screwing he wanted but one he'd remember. She and Bubba had gotten married young and stayed married for twelve years.

He dumped her without a thought for the little bitch to give birth to his first born. It was a horrible eight months, she only had a hunch he was cheating at first. The first clue is when he lost weight, working out and jogging. Are you kidding? It was the dead giveaway she spent the next three months accusing, cajoling, and begging. She pleaded for the truth, but it all came into focus at the radio station Christmas Party.

The girl at the front desk became coy with her husband reality hit her like a rock. She realized the proprietary way the post-pubescent receptionist reacted wasn't a fluke. She kept it together until they got in the car to go home she did her hostile wife impersonation.

Frank denied the whole thing, but thirty short days later the cat was out of the bag. The teeny boppers called her and announced she was with child. The baby daddy was no other but her husband Frank. Mims was hell bent determined to hold on to this grudge milking it dry.

How dare he impregnate this girl, had he never heard of a condom? She didn't care he was having a baby. She had no wish to get fat and out of shape with a baby attached. But she had a lot of outraged over his behavior plus her humiliation. To get a girl pregnant at forty-eight unbelievable, he didn't even have the courtesy to be ashamed. He was delirious with the news given the way he handled the announcement. He did it during the middle of his show with the fervor of the academy award nominations.

She was too old to give birth thank God, but she was still young enough to exact her pound of flesh on him. It made her smug visualizing the look on his face when he found out she scooped up his Little Orphan Jazzie for herself. She didn't miss being married to Frank that wasn't her problem. In reality, she enjoyed her newfound freedom. It was the principle of payback at work in her heart. He hated to have one of his on-air gimmicks blow up in his face it got to him. She'd put those two little shits Frank and George in also known as Bubba and Beefcake to their diehard fans, in their places.

Mims plan was to use her favorite production crew to follow Jazz's every move. The Remake of Jazz Kelley was her working title of the three-part series. She scripted the climax to be a job offer from B&K the number two agency PR firm in the country. Her obsessive documentation of every transition in the script made her a great newswoman. Mims determination and excitement to start this project became an obsession. Enough so she worked through the weekend because her best friend Elizabeth McNeil committed to making sure the job offer was legitimate.

She had a dream of Liz mentoring Jazz up the corporate ladder which was a great opportunity for Mims. She'd milk this with a revisit during sweeps week if the series became the size of hit Mims thought it had the potential of being.

Liz McNeil was the alpha female at B&K San Francisco the powerhouse PR Firm. She ran the office with a heavy hand and didn't care about your status. She'd bend but not break the company policy to fraternize with the media rule number one. Mims was an acceptation to the rule. Earlier in the week at dinner, Liz mentioned she had trouble filling a position. The company wanted a fabulous catch, but they were not willing to pay the price. They needed somebody with breathtaking looks, unmatchable style and brains for this job according to Liz optional.

To quote Liz, they were nice but unnecessary. Jazz Kelley had the potential of being Liz's perfect candidate if she looked half as good in person as the pictures in the paper. By the time Mims arranged the interview, by then she'd create the quintessential B&K employee.

Thinking of the numbers, she made her giddy the morning shows ran teasers the week before it aired. Mims was ready to move to a bigger market for a fresh start in every way. It had become the right time to leave San Francisco why not go out in style was Mims philosophy. It was perfect she had every detail lined up but one, Jazz Kelley. She had made many calls, but no return calls from Jazz she glanced at the clock Mims decided it was now late enough to place another call to Jazz Kelley.

She was not sure why Jazz had not returned her call, but Mims didn't get discouraged. You don't become the number one anchor in her market by being passive. Determined she picked up the phone and plugged in Jazzes number. When it rang for the fourth time, Mims called it quits. She didn't think it was a good idea to leave another voice mail she'd try later. In the meantime, Mims got busy reviewing her list to figure out what remained too accomplished. She refused to consider what a disaster, this would be if Jazz decided not to play ball.

Trying to stay calm and focused while defending her project in the development meetings with her bosses. Her phone rang, and she glanced at the display the minute caller ID showed the number of the caller number she grabbed the phone. Mims began her campaign of persuasion purring a greeting to Jazz. After the standard stranger chit chat, Mims began the negotiations with bribery and flattery. It opened the possibility of what they make happen as a team for Jazz.

Mims suggested they meet at a lovely restaurant on the wharf. Her treat Jazz accepted happily and the rest, as they say, was history.

Jazz wasn't sure what was in store for her during this little settee with Mims Perkins. She was there to fill up on the fabulous array of food. Her conscience challenged as she contemplated using her Artful Dodger skills honed as a kid with Rose.

There was a passing thought of loading her purse up with food to take home and eat later. Instead, she kept eating as Mims spun her web. The news anchor was direct and made no apologies for wanting to scoop the morning show deejays.

"Everyone in the business knows how to play the game, it's Christmas time everyone wants to be a part of a miracle."

Jazz fell through the rabbit hole like Alice and overcame any doubt with the plan after Mims spent the meal pitching it to her. Mims defended her approach for the project one last time.

"Okay, maybe we'll be setting it up with pre-planned drama, but come on we're a production company. We have to have a script to use as a shooting guide. But what we want to do is let the home viewer in on your life. Up close and personal and we follow you with cameras."

"It sounds like fakery."

"It's like connect the dots picture each move makes the image clearer. Until the final result is complete, Here's where the script comes into play I call it manufactured reality it's the wave of televisions future. Jazz mark my words everyone wants a voyeuristic journey through someone else's life."

Mims was right doors would open because of this savvy lady who had the plan from the finish. She had a firm grasp of her game plan but when Mims broached the opening at B&K. Jazz in a state of complete disbelief wondered if she heard correctly. Did Mims say she'd be an ideal candidate for a job at B&K?

Jazz grimaced when Mims rattled on for ten minutes using verbal bullet points to list her flaws. Then she got around to listing Jazz's positive assets as if she were a tangible product. It sounded as if it would cause an upheaval but the notoriety and glamor might be an opportunity. If these last couple of days would be her fifteen minutes, she'd milk the experience. Confident if not B&K it had the possibility of ending with a good job somewhere. On the plus side, there was the fabulous new wardrobe and a professional makeover.

Mims had promised, and Jazz had no doubt she would deliver. The newswoman was good at her job and the reputation to back up her plan. She pulled the contract out for Jazz to take and review. After she promised to look it over and get back to Mims by the following day.

Her head was swimming in details by the time she got home. Once there she pulled out the pile of papers Mims shoved at her on the way out of the restaurant. Holy cow the first page alone was mind boggling she scanned the rest of the documents. She flipped through the three other pages wondered when she'd make time for the interview. The enormity of the project was staggering when she reviewed the shooting schedule for the first three days.

Mim's overlooked nothing hair appointments, manicure, tanning daily, facial, and aromatherapy and massage. Once the show had aired with any luck Jazz would become San Francisco's favorite soap opera, mini- series. Oh sure she had agreed to it no matter her reluctance. The primary goal for agreeing to this was to score the clothes with her budget was a pipe dream.

Any worry and concern she had disappeared as the date of airing approached. As if on cue, her phone rang it was Mims assistant with her interview time at B&K. Jazz didn't have to worry about what to wear. She'd been at the studio wardrobe for two hours earlier. The next afternoon she was moving toward her destiny the offices of B&K. She had an interview with Elizabeth McNeil, second banana only to the boss of the powerhouse company. For the first time in weeks, she was free of the camera crew who had followed her every move.

B&K didn't allow the cameras into their offices; thank god Jazz was nervous enough. To be honest, she had her fill by the third day of filming. By then the novelty had worn off, but she was in it up to her neck. So here she was, ready to throw up sitting in the lobby of the swankiest offices in San Francisco. She made an effort to dry her hands on the suede overstuffed plum purple chair. It only made her sweating issue worse because the fabric became darker. Then a woman sized her up reminding Jazz of a tiger ready to eat its prey the woman crossed the room with what appeared to be the purpose.

"Jazz Kelley I presume? Elizabeth McNeil, I'll be interviewing you this morning." The dynamic lady was intimidating as she extended her hand in greeting and introduction. The cultured dignified voice reminded Jazz of Kathryn Hepburn. Elizabeth was incredible to look at not in the traditional sense. But, her styling was impeccable there wasn't a hair out of place with perfect makeup. Jazz now had a role model for whom she would strive to emulate when she grew up in Elizabeth McNeil.
Chapter Nine

The next few years flew by under the watchful tutelage, of Liz McNeil. She became ensconced, respected and promoted. Within the safety of Liz's corporate heart safe and secure from the usual perils of a recruit.

There were never any follow-up segments with Mims or the special because two days after the show aired. There was a production company in Los Angeles eager to use her to produce the show for a network. They had heard Mims created a new genre she dubbed reality television, and they expressed interest.

One producer had been roommates with Mims cameraman and saw a rough cut of the show. He called her with an offer of a meeting to discuss the options. After the first conference, she received an offer to Executive Produce a national version, of her original idea.

Mims was ready to live her wildest dreams the show became famous for the makeovers they did. It placed in the top two for three years in a row. Her new career, new life, and new horizons were nothing less than a dream come true for a damaged Mims. She had been doing this next half of the story with no Frank.

For her part Jazz continued to have a friendship with Phillip; which is the only relationship they'd ever share. Jazz discovered her attraction to the handsome writer rated zero once she got past the accent. She still cared for him, and her hope to always stay friends if he understood.

Phillip took a while to understand sometimes Jazz thought he still harbored hope. But, she made it clear they were not exclusive Phillip understood but chose not to use the option. Work had become pure joy Jazz became a member of an elevated league of women. Given the privilege of referring to the ambitious Liz by her gave a name; honor and freedom reserved for the lucky ones. As the number one most fortunate of the few, the arrogant and the blessed inhabited Liz's inner circle.

Jazz envied the past month she received a Golden promotion. Her third one in as many years with this latest development, big things happened. Something momentous got tossed into the mix. It's an office with walls and everything. Not a cubicle or desk, in the bullpen named because of the lined up desk in a room surrounded by a weird round fence. This was a real office, and she loved her door "L O V E D every part." She spelled out a word for emphasis was a favorite form of expression at B&K. The trend made popular by Liz's example. Most of the floor had picked up the habit of emulating Liz, which was always a wise move when she was within earshot.

The fact remained this office made her happier than a new pair of designer shoes. It was Liz who spearheaded the efforts to find available space for her office. She pointed out to the Management Planning Committee the closet was a disgrace in its current condition. If the door were ajar, it might as well be a hoarder's residence. Her project got green-lighted a week later when a Partner walked by space. Rumor swirled around Liz had "led" the infamous partner expedition, in the hallway. Jazz had gratitude for the subtle manipulation of the quick walk around responsible for the launch of her career.

She loved her office and didn't care it used to be a supply closet. By today, it was her office had a window and a view. To get, to her office, she had to travel a long winding hallway. With a door closed for privacy, instead of a cubicle. There was room for a desk and two chairs which did the trick. The years spent in the teeny first apartment were preparation for functioning in tight spaces. Maintenance workers painted the place over the weekend, and it looked great. Kiwi green was perfect with the black furniture after she added a few colorful abstracts prints in black frames.

Her surprises didn't stop there though there was one more big surprise. The building maintenance man was putting the finishing flourish on the door. Ms. Jazz Kelly West Coast Client Services Manager, it was her new title. When the sweet man tipped his cap, he called her Ms. Kelly she died on the spot it was so exciting.

When she opened her office door; she thought the office looked damn good. Once she placed, a few of her thrift store treasures. She crossed to the desk were an exquisite orchid in a vase sat. Attached a card from the partners AKA Liz, enclosed in the card a corporate credit card.

Liz had scribbled a message to make Jazz aware her budget was five thousand dollars. For the designer and supplies for her office and use this credit card. She had to use the approved colors, see attached list. Were they kidding she never had to buy thrift store again? It didn't take her long to design the room as a canvas reflecting an eclectic style. To remain focused on her goal she determined her space needed to be a pleasant and welcoming place.

Jazz plopped into her chair, she realized the struggle was over she made it; Jazz Kelly had arrived with a bang. Her office was proof positive to anybody success was hers. Okay, so it's a converted supply closet.

Nobody needed to hear the details she thought to herself as she spun circles in her executive chair. As if she were a child on the playground her joy was unstoppable. "I'm Jazz Kelly, hey world, I made it."

Jazz enjoyed lunch with Elizabeth it was a cloud nine, day. They were celebrating her anniversary with the firm. She had been here over four years; it wasn't possible. Her morning chock full of happy moments included breakfast. There was a surprise greeting her when she arrived courtesy of the partners. It was a bouquet with a note offering congratulations. The card mentioned her length of service to the company. Her bosses pointed out a few highlights of her career. Plus a there's a gift certificate for lunch and coffee in the executive dining room courtesy of Liz.

Oh, sure she had noticed a change since moving to the fourteenth floor. She recognized a subtle switch in corporate culture, between the floors. Everyone was harsh up here, and the sense of youthful exuberance didn't exist.

Excitement and energy were unheard of, and it frustrated her to see the imagination and out of the box thinking from the tenth floor get lost. The free thinkers got replaced with the programmed sheep. They had no ambition or self-thought their job was to carry out the plan of the higher ups. No abstract thoughts allowed they were robots, doing the work for the smart models. Beneath the glamor, she first perceived, were a bunch of stressed out zombies.

Everyone wanted to stay, in the game; they hedge their bets with a strong team player mentality. She was a cog in the wheel speak out and get labeled a traitor or worse. Liz and everyone else aware of the consequences knew they would never again to grace the hallways of B&K.

"Liz does it ever bother you when people suggest you got hired by our face and body. With no thought of whom we are as people discounting what we can contribute as professionals?"

"People are idiotic if they think Fortune 500 companies hire based on physical attributes alone. I might add we contribute on several levels to the world we live."

"But the naysayers argue we got hired for our looks and no other reason."

"It's not a crime to look good Jazz, everyone in this room hired in part because of our looks. Take a look around you do you see any unattractive people here?" Liz made a sweeping gesture with the fork. Her arm became a wand it was a stellar performance.

Not smiling proved difficult during Liz's dramatic interpretation, Jazz found the truth disturbing. "As a matter-of-fact, no I don't Liz we don't have an ugly one in the bunch."

Jazz took a quick visual around the Cafeteria as if her coworkers were total strangers. Never seen before today, they were mannequins of perfection in the lower forty. It's how the executives referred to any floor below the fourteenth.

Everyone was attractive and well-groomed here on the executive floors the core visual esthetics taken to a different level this floor designed as a showroom of taste and perfection.

Humans included because comparison displayed in glass-walled cubicles. It served as a reminder you were on display like a storefront in the shopping district. When anyone walked the hallways at B&K, they noticed it mimicked window shopping humans.

She used to think the other tenants in the building were jealous. They referred to B&K employees as Barbie's and Ken's now she realized there wasn't any envy. Only well-deserved scorn and here she sat torn between two competing emotions, her goal of success and stubborn independence. It had been her undoing more than once coupled with her arrogance. "You're right Liz, and it strikes me as unfair."

She eschewed professional requirements included looks and a smoking hot body. The brief conversation soon turned into one of principle. In the wake of those feelings, she expressed herself and her outraged indignation. It was unfortunate she didn't notice Liz shifting and moving in her chair. On a roll, she let it rip with a person she perceived as her best friend.

"Liz I despise, elitist corporate philosophy, I will not flatter myself. To get hired as fodder for clients doesn't strike me as enviable. This firm is still living in the dinosaur ages. I think's especially true for corporate philosophy and inclusion."

Liz became another person displaying an aggressive and intimidating demeanor. Her friend had disappeared, and the boss sat in her place. She miscalculated and soon learned where she stood with Liz McNeil. Jazz listened in shock as Liz nipped her small revolution in the bud. "Hush and stop complaining it wasn't a reflection on your ability. It's different if we were stupid people."

"Yes, but--" she got cut off Liz shushed her with a reprimanding finger as if she were her mother.

"Good things happen to us, not because we stand passive waiting for someone else to make it happen. Around here you have to work on yourself with determination and discipline. From the time our feet hit the floor in the morning until we go to sleep at night. B&K is a business, not a college campus."

Elizabeth doctored her coffee, adding the French vanilla creamer using the spoon to emphasize each word. "I'm giving the basic truth of this business; it's no different at any other workplace. Your looks are a handicap only if not used to the fullest extent possible."

She leaned in towards Jazz and made direct eye contact. "Your looks have become part and parcel, of your success. Remember; don't kick a gift horse in the mouth. It will turn around and bite your ass, mark my words. Not me or anyone else can make chicken salad out of chicken shit, sweetie."

She put the spoon on the saucer continuing to gesture with a move worthy of an experienced symphony conductor. Her dramatic delivery struck Jazz as over the top. Liz reminded her of a drill Sergeant lecturing rebellious soldier. One who should get on board with the plan or face the consequences. She showed no mercy cautioning Jazz her words could prove to be a huge mistake.

Too late she realized she stepped on a political, land mine with Liz and backpedaled. For her there was no other choice, then to figure out a way to repair the damage. Shaken to the core and terrified she wished for a do-over at any cost. Her best bet to stay silent and listen waiting until Liz finished so she'd ease her concerns.

"Jazz have you ever noticed how authors go bananas with the way their cover art looks. The quality of the artwork, the texture of the paper, and use of space, the same applies to people."

"Liz I'm sure you have a point, but I'm not getting it, can you be more direct?"

"If you want success; you must be serious art on glossy paper. It's what they look for, makes sense? Here's your reality; you're getting paid three hundred more a week than anyone else in the same position as you at another agency. Success, money, and prestige in your job these are not terrible things. B&K isn't doing to screw you."

She responded with a nod she didn't want, Liz, to think she'd continue to create a ruckus. Her mentor held up a hand to stop her from speaking and continued the diatribe.

"It's a good break for you because of a lucky set of circumstances you had an opportunity served up to you in a fantastic company. You have a car, expense account, and an office. As perks, you receive you have an office space, small but with a door. Oh yes and don't forget the help of free parking."

"You're right Liz." Jazz, the admonished child, sat and stared at her hands and vowed never to set Liz off again and she looked humble. "I'm a lucky girl to have landed a job with this firm."

"It doesn't stop there either, does it Jazz? Business credit cards, auto repair, and insurance on the company car you drive. In a word, shut up and count blessings. Ask someone less fortunate and equally ambitious what they think."

"You're right, what was I thinking? It's a rotten day, and it's colored my perspective."

She watched as Elizabeth glanced at her skirt and noticed the crumbs from her sandwich. They littered the fabric like a party of ants, taking quick action Liz brushed off the crumbs. Not missing a beat in her diatribe.

"Listen, whatever reason the job got offered, it got offered to no one else. But it's not punishment no matter the reasons you got hired your looks or your mind."

Elizabeth flipped again and became the kind, understanding professional mentor encouraging the newcomer with praise. Jazz suspected what was next; she deemed it Liz's conspiratorial, wink. "Anyone who doubts your ability should review your record. Looks may have helped to get you this job you keep it because you have talent."

She patted Jazz's hand with feigned maternal concern, she wrapped everything up in a ribbon. "I have risked my career to make sure the path for you stay cleared. I do so hope you'll get noticed for the right reasons."

"Don't worry Liz I won't disappoint you promise."

"I've groomed, mentored and covered your ass when you got here you were an inexperienced woman. After countless hours of mentoring, you're a success in this company. Your open defiance is a mistake; it's treacherous in the corporate gutters Jazz, stop making waves."

"I'm not trying to make waves Liz, but I can't say I'm on board with the whole B&K mentality."

"Fair warning before the choices you are making with your mouth gets too high of a price tag attached. If you insist on this path of self-righteous indignation, it will get you fired. This is a great job don't kid yourself they don't fall in your lap."

"Liz, please I'm giving what I thought was a constructive critique of my place of work. There is nothing personal I wanted to help make us better for everyone. If I suggest a change, it's to help the firm stay current and cutting edge."

"Jazz if your need is to criticize this company constructive or otherwise. Have lunch with an old friend, not me, I'm a director, in this company. I plan to stay in my current position for until my retirement."

"I'm so sorry Liz I didn't mean to create this reaction; it was my observation."

"Humph, word to the wise, never rock the boat. Now, we'll write this off to having a momentary lapse in judgment and never speak of it again. Understood? I have to go; be smart stop causing me problems."

"I'm not trying to cause problems."

"Good then behave; you make lots of money for the firm. In return, your needs get met its teamwork." Liz's advice, in reality, was an order one should take to heart she returned to her work with a renewed determination to enjoy her fortunes she was lucky. It wasn't hard to adapt to the circumstances.

She thought of the meet with Liz as a small reminder to herself, not to forget Liz's position and her sensitivity to a perceived treasonous tone. She vowed not to voice her sentiments of any B&K business ever again.

For the next couple of years, she had done well for herself it added to her credibility as a professional. Her claim to fame had become her ability to attract clients, with name recognition, by recruiting them at their book signings.

The partners became impressed with her record over eight months. They allowed Jazz to work on small projects and clients. There was the occasion she joined other teams for larger projects.

Now she managed her own group of writers, and while there were no best sellers on her client roster, it could change. Right now, it was only a rumor at this point there was no discussion of the details. But a big contract was in the making. It was exciting to have made it to the shortlist of Tour Manager it was a massive project. Everyone was giddy, but none dared utter a word. The whole floor had been discussing it for weeks. These were the moments her image of the modern girl comprised her childhood dreams.

At last, she mirrored the confident and glamorous persona; she fantasized of projecting. In reality, it was a complete fabrication of the real her. The group she courted membership in comprised the best and brightest. She worked hard for years and at last they were cordial and respected her talent.

The haters wanted to criticize everything she had become both real and manufactured. Their claim she was arrogant didn't bother Jazz she wrote them off as doubters. Not everyone loved her, and she was okay living with the doubters. She didn't sit at home alone night after night but when she did. It happened in a much better environment she bought a new condo in a dream neighborhood. The condo had a wraparound veranda and full ocean view.

She became a hostage to the apartment. More of a Stockholm hostage, for her it was worth every penny spent. During those years, she didn't spend she saved a regular miser. Her ability to hoard every dime to finance her down payment and Jazz recognized perfection the moment Liz's real estate agent walked them into the condo. This was her home it was the perfect canvas for her creativity.

She designed every inch of the place. Focused on creating the perfect entertainment space worth the effort she invested. There was no convincing the house was out of her price range. To justify the expense Jazz convinced herself, the condo was a necessary prop for success. For her to have the perfect space was paramount to success. Because she entertained at the condo, the wow view more than made up for the cost. Her accountant disagreed, but it was her money. Jazz threw parties for clients, co-workers, and charities making up for the isolated years.

She made the colossal mortgage and maxed out credit cards buying expensive clothes were a mandatory part of showing up to work.

Her favorite feature of the condo was the double walk-in closet with spinning shoe racks. The challenge became to fill her mega closet into a showroom. It housed chic, sexy and expensive pieces of clothing and accessories. If you wanted to achieve success at B&K, there's an unwritten dress code for success to follow. The trick was to follow the suggestion to the letter guaranteed good thing happened to you. Her most significant self-imposed rule of head to toe glamor was expensive.

But, Liz preached from the good book of high fashion. She became part of a daily fashion show she read fashion magazines by the truckload. Who knew? Within her lurked a Fashionista waiting, for the opportunity, to be free. Within months, her new need to be a clothes horse took over her life, and she enjoyed every moment. Her world had become a perfect reflection of what she planned growing up in Harryton. Hair salon appointments were standard the manicurist called her by her name, and the same girl cut her hair every six weeks.

Every day became a phenomenal, learning experience, even with the long hours and hard work. She had a song in her heart every day the money, and the prestige of working at such a leading company had her loving every minute. Her normal was to mingle with celebrities and writers were a thrill and a half, daily.

Jazz always inside she owed everything to Elizabeth a gifted mentor but never a friend. She'd never make the same mistake a second time she had struggled to survive, and it was not her idea of a good time. Before her salary increase, she was not as flush with cash she struggled with finances. Her new take home pay was huge, and she had an income to match her expensive taste it was a heady experience.

Often she had to block the sound of Rose's voice in her subconscious, chastising her. For such reckless spending, but it wasn't the money or things. It's what got her through the rough times at B&K. The firm allowed her to settle into a routine her commitment to teamwork made her familiar with other up and comers. Liz recommended she keep her opinions to herself in the workplace. Straighten up and fly right had been the message.

Jazz was a whirlwind of creativity at meetings and brainstorming sessions. Even if it was a simple business lunch, making sure the B&K rhetoric registered within the acceptable range. It had drummed into her she always had to behave within the corporate standards.

It was a tricky maze to manage daily, but she loved the challenge. Her success was a gift there didn't seem room for wrong turns. If she were observed by the wrong person, it spelled disaster for her and those pesky goals.

She didn't intend to miss out on one minute of her career. To a ridiculous mistake, she loved every moment including the fifteen-hour days. The endless meetings and business social events were her favorite. Her mind never figured out why meetings gave her such rush maybe she'd get a sense of accomplishment.

Her reputation as a hot shot with management was an edge. What was there not to love in her current status as a rock star in the pack? On a quiet Wednesday morning, Stan the Man showed up at Jazz's office door. When she started her day with the senior partner propped in her doorway threw her for a loop. She adjusted her skirt below her mid-thigh to her knee. It was an epic fail Jazz thought she saw a smirk on his face. The entire duration of his stay was ten minute's tops. He talked her up on current mundane events and marketing trends. In no rush to leave after a few anxious moments, Jazz remembered her manners and invited him in to sit.

"No, thanks, I have to get back to work; I dropped by to deliver an invitation to the command performance meeting in my office. Your presence would be appreciated and required." He pushed off the door, and the brief meeting ended.

"Well, I'm flattered to thank you how can I refuse."

"You can't but come early and check out the view from a higher floor. Why not come say around two o'clock join Liz and me for coffee and Danish? We'll have a pre-meeting and discuss your immediate future."

His last words sounded encouraging, and she nodded a confirmation as she didn't trust her voice not to bellow. Her charging Rhino routine never came out as she wanted. Versus the results of working on her tone and tenor as Liz referred to her sophisticated, with professional woman voice.

"Sounds great Mr. Barney I'll be there and thanks for the invite."

"Don't thank me; Liz tells me you're the future of a firm I worked my ass off to build."

She found herself tongue-tied trying to think of something witty, but nothing came into her head. So she smiled and stood to walk him out to the elevator the one labeled Executives Only.

Jazz wondered if this meeting might lead to the official announcement she said a silent prayer hoping it was her next assignment. She along with everyone else was part of the grapevine when word of the new mystery client erupted. Everyone spent hours speculating in the hallways, and around the water cooler.

Her goal was to be, on a winning team, it became an obsession regardless of what writer they were courting. She indulged the fantasy for a short time after Stan Barney left this might be the moment to make her move. Everyone at the firm had been speculating on who they would put in charge of the next big client. Jazz had heard an enormous fish were moving to their pond now the news no longer ranked as mere rumor.

Her anticipation ran high until the scheduled time drew near she had confidence she was getting a spot on the team. Stan Barney has not known for wild behavior and the things to keep things serene and calm. But today the halls were buzzing as staff let slip their invite status to the big meeting. The staff members who were close enough inundated her with multiple requests for details. Her concentration became an issue for most of the afternoon. It wasn't every day a Senior Partner dropped by for a chat inviting a mid-level management staff member.

Jazz believed this little gathering might turn into a massive event on her floor. She ranked as a peasant until now by her co-workers. The fact, Stan meander on the executive floor was commonplace but on this floor a major event. She prayed it was one of those strange, but good things sometimes happened to her. She knew whatever the results this had the potential of becoming an epic opportunity. The staff was envious and wanted to know why Stan invited her to the meeting. Everyone agreed something monumental was in the works.

When the receptionist dropped off her mail and noted with surprise Jazz was still there when she tapped her watch. She realized if her pace didn't pick up she'd be late for the coffee date before the meeting. Jazz grabbed her briefcase and jacket she bolted up the hallway annoyed at losing track of the afternoon.

She pushed the call button and waited for the elevator and experienced a shortness of breath. Sensing an asthma attack might derail her but then realized she had been holding her breath for the last thirty seconds.

Jazz reminded herself to breathe helped to quell the butterflies in her stomach. Coworkers wished her well and hollered plenty of, you go girl and congratulations. She was smug with the knowledge the remarks had come from envy. But, she didn't care who'd blame them? When the door opened, she jumped on board the express elevator. To keep her mind calm, she distracted herself by humming the soft canned music filtered through the floors of B&K. She checked her hair in the stainless steel interior, she grabbed her hair and rolled it into a chignon and stabbed the bobby pins back.

This meeting should have the word mega attached something big was happening she had a premonition in her bones. As the elevator moved up to the eighteenth floor, her mind ran at full speed. She wondered again if this meeting related to the monster fish who signed last week. If this was her break, she was in one hundred percent. Jazz took one last deep breath and stepped off the elevator. Into the world of power and influence was the top floor of B&K.

When it became official a week later, she breathed a sigh of relief. Proud, she now discussed her meeting with Stan with her co-workers. They wanted every last detail and nuance of the meeting? Her group threw a party at the bar in the lobby no executives attended. Jazz regaled them with the information they were starving to hear. The executive luncheon organized by Liz to congratulate the latest member to the team. The guest list included every senior manager of the company and the partners.

"Jazz, the people who attended the luncheon today they are your peers now. There can be no more socializing with the staff on your floor. Be polite, but aloof no more going to meet up for happy hour. Nothing of the kind can happen anymore with them."

"It will prove difficult Liz I'm still working on the same floor as they, don't you see."

"In the long run, it doesn't matter, because, if everything goes well, with the Payne tour, you'll move up to the top floor. You can't continue the relationships with the people on this floor." In the early afternoon, the notification sent out in a company email blast Jazz Kelly was the latest Client Services Manager in the firm.
Chapter Ten

In the ensuing three months, she had mixed feelings taking on the new job with a massive increase in her responsibilities. One day, she couldn't believe her luck to have landed this incredible job. On the other days, she experienced paralyzing fear she would fail in reaching the goals set by the brass. Her opinion of how lucky she was to change the assignment at least seven to ten times a day. Jazz's spirit was whimsical or reckless when she wasn't star struck. It became commonplace in her daily work to be in proximity of famous legendary writers. Not a usual occurrence in anyone's career.

Most men and a few women writers had been aggressive with their interest in her. But, her brain didn't go there. Instead, she always followed the unspoken rules about client interaction.

Liz always preached abstinence with clients in her mini training sessions. None inspired Jazz to stray off the path and into a relationship. Nothing turned her on more than success, power, and a healthy bankroll of money.

She might need a hot man available at her convenience thrown in to add to the mix of life. The problem she had was complex and took honesty with herself for longer than a half of a second. There's no denying she had had to plead guilty to the attraction she had for him.

The pictures of Gianni made her heart race she'd love to bend the rules with this one. She equated it to professional suicide, but no one blamed a girl for looking. The picture on the back cover showed a delicious specimen of a man. Gianni's latest book bound for glory and the bestsellers list.

Oh yeah, his face had the wow impact for any girl or woman with a heartbeat. His eyes suck someone down into his soul Gianni was tantalizing. It gave her instant perspective the damage might befall her career. If she got carried away with a few innocents daydreams and turned them into reality.

Gianni looked hot impure thoughts sneaked in from time to time. How does girl stop her mind? Every night she devoured Gianni's books. Jazz thought the novels were well-written and entertaining. They each had something special set them apart. The research unit at B&K well versed in their job made her job easier. She became obsessed watching the interviews the media service provided clips of talk show appearances industry award shows, on video. After she read reams of news clippings, magazines, reviews, and early life details she had a handle on Gianni Payne.

After she wrote comments on index cards proved useful when interacting with other clients reviewing them before a meeting. It's what she called flatter dialog, one lesson learned to deal with authors. They are ego driven and don't understand phrases equivalent to don't flatter yourself. It's not right or everyone's favorite, I have a few changes to your schedule.

Ego, the one trait she noticed they had in common regardless of gender, or genre. Their needs were always front and center the cornerstone of their behavior and motivation. They teamed with an over-inflated sense of their self-importance. It would be unfair to judge since a face-to-face meeting hadn't taken place.

Jazz watched each one of his Academy Award-nominated films won for Best Screenplay. The mother load of awards the Best Picture was his next goal. He said it in an interview, he did with a prominent men's magazine. She had emerged herself in Gianni's story she related to the stories of struggle in Gianni's life. His whole story overall fascinated her from the start. When his career started, he worked as a grip. There was plenty of low-budget film work which financially and professionally never amounted to a hill of beans at the box office. After a while, he grew tired of the complaints spewed by the overwhelmed director when the film was going belly up because the director got pissed off with the writer. The biggest complaint he had hands down the fact none of dialog sounded creative and fun. He made a huge scene. "I've read dialogue written by amateurs who do a better job than this shit."

"Well then get one to do it I'm finished." The writer stormed off it was all dramatic. Gianni never missed an opportunity to approach the director as he proceeded, to bullshit his way, up to screenwriter credits. He continued to rise within the industry because of his talent and his ability to woo a woman. His good looks and intensity worked to his advantage with the wives of studio heads.

He went from renegade film Grip to admired screenwriter Gianni's open defiance of a flawed became the new way to tell a story. It proved to the Hollywood hierarchy a lone rebel had the chops to create. During her preparation for the tour, she came to see Mr. Payne in a borderline intimate way.

She did an admirable job overall, her penchant for details allowed her to multi-task. Personal appearances, book signings, and media blitzes in different regional markets. Gianni's goal of selling books would be realized. Because her concept of pitching books in alternative venues worked in spades. She booked the morning shows, cooking shows, and military bases for a book signing.

The response had been incredible, and she booked him solid. With the biggest coup his book on the shopping channel in three national markets and a few International markets. Her plan for straying from the traditional bookstore signings if met with resistance from the author was perilous.

Personal appearances became crucial to the success of her planning. Gianni's fans expected him to get out on the road and they were about to get full tilt boogie book tours. Liz dropped by one day and made her aware the talk sounded optimistic because of the pre-tour feedback from the client.

This tour didn't focus on selling Gianni to the executives at B&K. Jazz wanted to use this opportunity to sell herself to the power brokers of the firm. Gianni better hangs onto her coattails. Because they were doing this book tour at warp speed, she hoped he was ready. The proposed bookings designed by the big wigs.

Her plan replaced the pitch thrown out the window by the partners for now. Jazz had changed it up to her style and interpretation of a book tour. This project was a perfect example of go big or head home.

Whatever the outcome this tour was her everything hinged on its moment. She believed, in her ability, to deliver and when finished with this project she'd make it to a corner office or get fired. It was a rare occurrence when a Client Service Manager hit a grand slam for the partners. Liz said as much earlier in the evening when she dropped by Jazz's office, to say good night. Her ego still smarted from her meeting with Liz when they discussed these kinds of rumors.

She smiled but remained silent; her co-workers had informed Jazz the partners had an ulterior motive. They thought they were in control of the tour and hence the author through her. Due to her lack of experience leading a touring boy were they wrong. Liz brought a split of wine one night and poured them a glass. When she announced how proud of Jazz's performance she was to date and excited she scored the tour and the job she did. "Jazz your professional development overall in a word fabulous done with little or no help from Gianni's, assistant."

Jazz thrilled by the compliment and smiled as Liz continued, "Alicia's antics are well-known. She's often fuel for gossip between her poor interaction skills and her lazy management of Gianni business no one wants to associate with her."

"Can't tell you how I'm looking forward to working with a rude, sharp-tongued assistant. I don't think behaviors improve with a cross-country trip."

"There's always hope Jazz, stay positive but assertive."

"No there's no hope when she responds to the few requests I've made. They were answered interspersed with snide remarks thrown in for no purpose except to be rude."

Today she stood in line at the coffee bar in a daze and in retrospect, she should've stayed at her desk. The coffee trolley was one perk provided for the lucky inhabitants of the executive floors fourteen through eighteen.

It was a convenience made mornings and afternoons easier for everyone. The reason for the service had more to do with productivity than a luxury. If you didn't leave your desk for a caffeine fix, you'd get more done.

Out of a need to stretch her legs hence she walked down to the café and here she stood wasting time in line for her Latte. Preoccupied with the memo, she had sent to Gianni's assistant. Her heart had a profound sense foreboding when she analyzed the long-term effects on career. Later on, in the cafe lost in thought, she didn't notice Liz seated at a back table.

"Hey, you Jazz you're at the Executive Coffee Bar at B&K back to planet earth. Girl, you look a million miles away I thought for a moment, you would ignore me." She smiled in greeting she reacted, with total relief, when she saw Liz.

Liz was the perfect person to run her questions by for Jazz to find peace. Her pro and con list was rattling around in her brain while the email waited in the draft folder. It was pure luck Liz was here before she hit the send button. This new email thing was a remarkable convenience, but it was something to use with control there was no getting it back. After Jazz grabbed a muffin with the napkin and rejoined Liz broaching her first question. "Liz I've noticed how protective Alicia is sometimes. I'm with Master Payne's mama. Does Alicia think he's twelve years old or something?"

Elizabeth lowered her voice it became a hushed whisper she often used when discussing any B&K business. Her paranoia bordered on the unhealthy, in Jazz's opinion but never diminished the validity of Liz's observations. "Jazz, Alicia's obsession with him is crazy I met her at lunch one day. Her jealousy borders on manic zealot safeguarding the Prince. It comes from a place of self-protection it's the secret to her longevity."

Liz patted her skirt, the lecture continued in a conspiratorial whisper. "It's her I'm better than you mindset she projects towards women who mingle with Gianni. Provoke her, and it will make things worse."

She took a few ladylike sips from her cup and then cleared her throat continuing. "She perceives every woman around her, as a threat. Real or imagined you're her sworn enemy, regardless of your position. On Alicia, no one will ever do a decent enough job. Gianni may not need her anymore, see."

Elizabeth stopped talking to smooth over the nonexistent wrinkles in her skirt. She then reached into her purse and pulled out her gold compact. Jazz used her silence to speak her mind being mindful of Liz's position.

"Liz, someone with her issues, is frightening to be around Alicia has serious mental issues. She's a card-carrying whack job. Why a man with Gianni's success, puts up with her is beyond me."

As if she hadn't even interjected, her thoughts, Liz continued on a roll. "I believe he's unaware of it and pays no attention to behavior because it doesn't affect his world. Writers are by necessity self-absorbed whatever her faults may be; Gianni must find her efficient and helpful."

She sipped off the bottle of water next to her. "You know how writers get if she didn't have value to him she'd get her walking papers."

"It hampers my progress I'm trying to communicate with my client, and she is a road block." Manage her voice tone was challenging because she was angry and annoyed.

"It sounds as if someone is using a proprietary tone when you speak of Mr. Payne." She worked at keeping a straight face listening Liz had the ability of a B-grade actress in a cheesy, detective movie.

For lack of a better word Melodramatic is a word that would describe her. "Are you listening to Jazz? They will throw someone under the bus in a flash." She primped on her hair in the small mirror of her, solid gold compact.

Liz's hair was perfect the gesture screamed contrived behavior she pushed her chair back the conversation was over Jazz had gotten dismissed. "It has been an enjoyable time at Cafe B&K, but duty calls. I'm off to the salt mines so, heed my advice and behave." Elizabeth swung into action before, she finished bussing the table. She got up and moved, hurrying after Liz she had to sprint to keep up to hear the final tidbit of advice. Liz's evaluation of Alicia and her recent efforts to sabotage the tour was ready.

"My last suggestion is to discuss questions to Alicia only when necessary. Make a healthy relationship with your writer while creating a reasonable working relationship, with her."

"But, she's impossible."

"Other than the fact, I'm at a loss for words except to reiterate the move is to develop a healthy, professional relationship with the client." Jazz nodded in agreement as it did no good to argue or debate an issue with Liz.

"What a coup this assignment sounds Jazz, you must be the luckiest duck on the planet. I'm G R E E N with envy." Elizabeth stopped and posed in the doorway to her impressive office. "Wait here for a second I have something to give you."

After she had moved over to her desk, she jotted something on a Post-it. She crossed back to Jazz and handed her the paper while using her conspiratorial whisper. "Here take this it never came from me."

"What is it?"

"Gianni's personal email; not even Alicia can access the damn thing. I'm sure she's not even aware this email discuss exists."

"How did you get it?"

Liz responded in an agitated whisper. "Let's not discuss how I got it, or why I have it."

"Okay whatever you say and thanks, Liz."

"Don't thank me put this somewhere safe use it to circumvent the problem as needed. For now, try to enjoy the ride and avoid being alone with Mr. Payne."

"I have to be around him, he's my client."

"Not outside of these walls if you do there's no chance of survival follow the rules Jazz."

"Are you saying she'd do something underhanded to get me in trouble?"

"I'm saying be careful now go forth and help B&K to expand. While you're at it, do me a favor. Cut the legs out from under condescending bitch Alicia."

With the last volley, Liz closed her office door. Jazz shocked at the crassness of Liz's last words. Jazz not sure if she said it to intimidate or entertain her. She walked back deep in thought but smiling, remembering Liz's parting shot at Alicia.

This week she was in a meeting when the receptionist buzzed her. Daphne apologized for interrupting Daphne launched into her stand up receptionist routine. When she announced in a melodic voice Alicia the Hun, on one everyone but Jazz laughed. Before tackling off the line impressed with her and her bawdy humor.

Most of the assembled staff enjoyed Daphne's impersonation of Alicia Jazz was not among them. She sounded happy and unaware of the misery she was causing. With a psyche showing signs of post-traumatic stress affecting Jazz's mental health was fragile.

Unable to cope with the craziness dished out from Gianni's assistant. Her nerves had gotten frayed and her sense of humor no longer in existed. On over one occasion, she had opened her top drawer to confirm the private email discuss for Gianni. It comforted her to see it's still there tucked inside her drawer.

To have Gianni's private email comforted her from the onslaught of Alicia's bullshit. She left the meeting and hurried back to her desk. Alicia was on a rampage if she was deciphering the cryptic note from Daphne.

She barreled past the reception desk and took a wide left toward her office. At last, she was calling back to confirm the final itinerary. The last thing she did before her going to her meeting was to send Alicia a complete file. It included the itinerary, time line and projected results of the tour. Jazz crossed to her desk; there were so many people who needed an answer and it annoyed her to have to discuss Alicia's ridiculous questions.

After a lengthy, bitch session on her unavailability and apathetic response time, Alicia got to the business at hand. "Ms. Kelly I have mentioned, several times. Gianni no longer has to work this hard, he writes bestsellers. Not to say, his recent transition into directing well-received films."

Jazz tried during her conversation to make sense of her complaints, but they were all baseless. Alicia decided when the conversation ended, but not before threatening to go over her head, to get the results, she wanted.

The threats made by an angry assistant were a deal breaker she swiveled around and retrieved Gianni's personal email. Then composed scathing memo in which she outlined bullet points of the issues she faced with Alicia, the Hun. Minutes after sending the note her computer alerted her to a new email in the inbox, Sure enough, there it was a response in record time. She wanted a reply from Gianni whether she agreed with the answer or not. Problems resolved thanks for the what-up G.

Jazz had immense personal pride for standing up on behalf of her itinerary issues and coming out a winner. Now back in control and ready to move forward she had to get her priorities together.

Several hours later she even received a phone call from Alicia making a perfunctory apology which got easy marks. Good enough she wanted the crap resolved so she could move on with her plan.

She showed her bosses she had the client control to take an unruly writer or assistant. Was what Rose used to call it, the "Vig" when she was playing the numbers or ponies? She wanted them to be aware there should be no doubt who was the right person for this job. Or any other job they might have in mind for her. Her intent was to impress the Senior Partners with her progressive message in marketing. Writers and successful book tours were her how she'd get her ticket punched to the VP of Procurement Fiction position. Liz shared with her Frankie, who now held the position wasn't coming back after the baby.

The itinerary she reviewed in her mind was based on Frankie's date of departure scheduled seven months away. Liz assured her barring any pregnancy issues she was not coming back.

Two days before Gianni's arrival Liz suggested she head for home early and get needed rest. It was a subtle reference to the downtrodden look she was sporting more grunge than corporate. She knew conserving her energy played an important role in the upcoming tour. It reminded her when you worked at B&K regardless of how hard. There were expectations, and one of them had to do with the dress code.

She had the sense to know Alicia placed her in the crosshairs of revenge she was a lamb being led to slaughter. Some people perceived her as naïve as she continued doing her job. Another big promotion might happen and if she'd move up her workspace four floors. Her eye was on the ultimate prize a corner office on the eighteenth floor. Her office and overall look had to be neat and tidy. "In this world, we live it's not optional if things go awry, they needed immediate care and get resolved day or night. Look the part to play it Jazz. Tomorrow I need you to show up on your game and your head in B&K mode."

The message delivered in plain, simple language Jazz received the message and validated it with a nod. Liz left, and Jazz got busy organizing no one needed to push her to leave early twice. On the way out she rejected the invite for cocktails out of fear, Liz was attending. Instead, she committed to a quick takeout chicken Caesar salad flannel pajamas.

When she arrived home, she changed at once and climbed into bed with her paperwork and remote. No dinners out with Phillip or martini bars with her coworkers. She was on a mission to complete everything well before his arrival and tomorrow promised to be a day full of hard work.

Jazz arrived early on Thursday and met with an approving nod from Liz and committed to kicking ass and documenting names. Alicia, the Hun, better back off Jazz tired of playing games. From the time she walked into the office until she left for the day, she drove herself to the brink firming up each leg of the tour.

She flipped the light switch on her way out with the words of her favorite heroine ringing in her ears. She muttered under her breath in the best southern accent within the constraints of her ability her, "Fiddly Dee, tomorrows, another day."
Chapter Eleven

Liz had hurried to the reception lobby the minute Daphne had called. She was furious with Jazz as she crossed to Gianni, standing in the reception area looking awkward and uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry for the delay Mr. Payne; this is a pleasant surprise. We had tomorrow listed as your date of arrival. Not it matters. Everyone is thrilled you have arrived here."

"I spoke to the receptionist, Jazz called; she's running behind this morning. But, not to worry she's in route so it shouldn't be long. I'm Elizabeth McNeil call me Liz; it's a pleasure to have you here."

"I'm happy to have arrived in one piece. Thanks for the offer it's no problem to wait while enjoying the great view."

"Yes, isn't it, I'm Liz Mr. Kivingston's Director of Operations for the West Coast Offices? We met at a meeting in New York I'm sure you don't remember?"

"Oh, I remember you Liz, who'd forget, you, the perfect representative of B&K and I mean it in the nicest way."

"Mr. Payne you're too kind, follow me I'm sure you'll find it more comfortable in Jazz's office rather than the public lobby." Elizabeth made her characteristic sweeping motion with her hand. She used her body language to direct Gianni down the hallway veering to the right.

He pondered going left to mess with her but waited until they knew each other better. She steered him through turning hallways. He related to the feelings a mouse experienced in a maze the hallway defined ridiculous. Liz chatted with him as they traveled through the labyrinth. "Can I get you a breakfast tray with coffee? I have an assortment of fresh French pastries coming," She smiled at him, and there seemed to be a weird buzz in the air. Liz had issues going on with something he thought she got tight lipped because she didn't enjoy playing hostess.

"I'll have Chef prepare the larger breakfast with a bowl of fresh fruit." She sorted through the keys on her chain and then spoke in a tone sounded as if he was an afterthought. "We grow the fruits and vegetables served in the commissary it's up on the roof, our garden is organic."

Liz paused at the door, holding up the correct key it slipped in the lock, and he found himself in the smallest office imaginable.

"I remember meeting you from New York no one forgets such a treasure as you. Coffee sounds terrific I'll accept the offer of large breakfast too; I'm starving," His stomach growled and rumbled. "Can I have those pastries and fruit with it too, please? I hope this doesn't gum up the works of your assembly line showing up early. I got tired, of the New York City winter, and fled west. I've brought the deplorable East Coast weather with me I apologize."

Liz deposited Gianni in Jazz's office then hurried up two floors to the executive dining room. She wondered the whole time if she should have put him somewhere else. She'd never realized how small Jazz's office was until she saw him standing in the middle of the space.

"May I say what a pleasure Mr. Payne?" Liz smiled at Gianni. He suspected it was a ruse to cover up her distress. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw she reacted to his casual table manners.

He didn't eat; he dug into the food with relish it's the way he had been raised. She needed to get over it his assistant was always harping on how uncivilized he looked at the table.

He was six feet, four inches of the complete man; his casual tousled blond hair fell into his eyes. It gave him a look that promised a sensual seduction available to any woman Gianni though worthy. Gianni looked as if he were a hero on the cover of a romance novel.

The guy was everyone's favorite hero a rogue, scoundrel, and reprobate. Liz visited the romance section of her favorite bookstore. Bad boys were her weakness no one knew her closest friends were not aware of her penchant for the romance aisle in the bookstore.

But a girl had to have fun over a three day weekend. Gianni's sense of style exuded the relaxed New Yorker. His indifferent East Coast aura radiated off him. Yes, thought Elizabeth this man exuded the charm and personality every woman loved.

He projected total animal magnetism. Jazz had defended her portrayal of Gianni as yummy. She might have something there; the three shots of tequila had less to do with her judgment than Liz thought. Yes, she'd have to go with yummy Liz amended her statement to beyond yummy, with fierce determination.

Gianni served up a delicious sampling of machismo traits. Her reputation for her focus on business gave her confidence to atone, for the scandalous mental moment, she enjoyed. Her current foible the secret lust she had towards this client.

Most people if they find out she loved romance books would judge her. She took thirty seconds and pictured the handsome writer as her newest hero. She then moved it out of her head because this man was one hundred percent off-limits. Elizabeth learned a fundamental lesson, through the career mistakes of others.

Yeah, never mingle, with the talent, it spells disaster on a career, so she got her mind back on duty. It required a professional tone, and so she cleared throat.

Gianni reacted with dismay when he got a load of the cubicle office. It was a small space Gianni didn't know how people worked in places this stuffy. He turned off right away, to the size, it was devoid of a creative or stimulating vibe. Then he realized no work would get done in this closet. Gianni had the distinct sense this space might have been a closet. He found it impossible to write in a space like this he'd go stir crazy. He spent a few minutes, spinning in the chair distracted in his boredom for a moment.

His first impression was oh so wrong after a long second look he approved of what he saw. Yes, the room was small, but, it projected a pleasant, relaxing ambiance. The scented candles and soft fabrics worked well together. What did they call the music playing? They called it new wave, and he wasn't a big fan. Gianni found the whole esoteric lifestyle, bullshit. It grated on, his last nerve, but whatever. He'd tolerate it for now but, it read too tame for a regular diet.

Given the egg chairs prominent space in the room Gianni's one seating accommodation choice besides the comfy, leather chair, but, it sat on her side of the desk; he picked Jazz's chair. The egg chair and his ass would never have a relationship as long as he breathed air. Gianni never allowed agencies to treat him like a child. This tendency many public relations people displayed, he resisted every time.

Elizabeth returned with a tray laden with a full English breakfast on a platter. It looked delicious there nothing better than clotted cream on a strawberry scone with excellent coffee. His view should have added a million dollars to his bill.

One made more enjoyable when he noted the jam on the tray turned out it's his favorite be apricot. How did the Chef know what his favorite jelly flavor had been his whole life? Someone named Jazz Kelly did her homework, and then. Gianni realized how ravenous his hunger had developed he sucked down a stack of hot cakes and a slab of ham. No second invitation required he hadn't eaten decent food in a few days having existed on airport food.

Liz glanced over with a sense of gratitude he didn't hear her internal dialog. This man so busy wolfing the breakfast he hadn't noticed.

She stared in amazement she'd never seen anyone eat so fast as if, he had not eaten for days. Then there's the tension he tried in vain to keep her reaction in check. He had been analyzing the spinster Liz while he ate his breakfast.

Gianni tried to figure out if she thought by exaggerating her diction; so she sounds in charge. Or if it was her usual abrasive behavior not he gave a shit. No one on the staff dared to tell Liz it made her sound bitchy.

He was comfortable with the tone it didn't offend him in the least. He knew plenty of women like her and most were roaring bitches. Easy for him to say he wasn't a minion under her thumb. So he had the luxury of being entertained and not infuriated.

After, Liz's quick retreat into the hallowed halls of B&K. He investigated exploring the space. It didn't need more than staying put and turning in a circle. In his opinion, an office spoke volumes if you wanted to understand an adversary or friend. Who they were versus the image they tried to communicate.

His second glance of the cozy space changed his opinion. There were many framed pictures positioned on the credenza. They told Gianni everything he needed to know for Ms. Jazz Kelly. There were shots of her, with clients and celebrities. No kids, no pets, and no husband spelled perfection for him it left him confident in his plan. The possibility existed he would have a fantastic time guaranteed.

Let there be no question he was attracted to her, it was a snapshot. But if she was half as intriguing in person, she was a looker and a half. Jazz was natural, and he found himself captivated by this lovely young woman. She had a funny name who in their right mind named their kid Jazz? He intended to find out the vitals between the bookselling with great enthusiasm. They were perfect for one another reading the new story framed and a fascinating read for knowledge of her history.

This is a woman was both to amuse and amaze by life. He noted how her green eyes added to her overall attractiveness. Her eyes are reminiscent of a doe caught in the headlights. Oh yes, his trip became ripe with possibilities.

She could be the muse for his female characters he would enjoy getting to know her and the sun in her universe, whatever color it appeared. Gianni knew how to squeeze a lifetime into two weeks nothing inspired him more than good looking women. The executive chair swung around revealing, a bemused Gianni; he reached to pick up an index card. He got a kick at the contents of her cards and amazed at the level of ass-kissing. Ms. Kelly prepared to pass as conversation.

Across town, Jazz got, on the move early, she resembled a whirling dervish. She was more of the top PR executive running late. Poor time management skills were becoming regular occurrences as of late and spoke towards her future.

She tried, but for reasons, no recent time came to mind she enjoyed a few extras minutes of peace and quiet. In her defense, she stayed up far too late reading the unauthorized biography of Gianni.

Dissecting a Fast and Furious Life, penned by a well-known gossip columnist rumored to have had a brief, hot fling with Gianni. The author Anne Lexingford always denied it, but everyone knew the truth. She wrote a spiteful book, with the help of a few surprises research assistants six of his exes. The book reads in the style of a bestseller gossipy blockbuster. Everyone in the know recognized Gianni wasn't a kiss and teller, a rogue yes but his basic makeup of a gentleman.

The ladies held nothing back from the author. Jazz had the real intention of going to bed early. She used a sleep aid to make sure of a proper night's sleep. But, after she read the first chapter she opted to eat her chicken salad sandwich and drink her Sweet Tea instead.

Jazz wasn't alone in thinking the book was brilliant by most standards. When she visualized the group therapy sessions with Gianni's, Sexy Exe's as they tagged themselves. It made her laugh, and the book itself struck her as more comic reflection than vindictive bitching becoming a bestseller. It's the top twenty-five read the cover, to cover by millions of curious fans.

Her boy Gianni was a prolific, ladies' man. The women spilled their guts sharing the particular brand of Gianni Love they came to adore. What she found most intriguing the women said when asked. If Gianni called them tomorrow, the ladies said, they'd do it again no questions asked.

Jazz relished the quote from his ex-girlfriend who said, "Many men pass through your life. Only one moves through your soul." Note, to self; keep a desk between them she drove the Bay Bridge like a mad woman on the move. Jazz noticed the car stop ahead of her and slammed on her brakes, stopping short of the bumper ahead.

The car behind her connected with her bumper, and she screamed in pain. The travel mug had fallen, of the skid shield and soaked her lap. "Damn." She put the car in park and jumped out to check the damage. After examining the damage with a flood of relief, she realized neither car had any problems because of their fender bump.

There was no time left for messing around, so she waved to the distraught teenager. Who sat behind the wheel of the other car and mouthed to the girl should pay closer attention. The girl nodded back and looked grateful then Jazz jumped back in the car. They both moved on with their day the teen girl got away with a reprimand, and she was back underway.

Between the dark circles, she had seen under her eyes this morning brushing her teeth. Her ensemble was a wrinkled linen jacket and pencil skirt accented by an old pair of running shoes. She didn't look stylish she appeared to be a refugee from the sixties. Disheveled bitch with serious distractions going on was a better interpretation. If the traffic on the bridge became gridlocked, the day already ruined.

Hurried and harassed she had no time to mess around she wanted out of the car. "I'm never getting out of this car or off this bridge for matter ever." Jazz frustrated with the delay lost control and screamed. The cathartic effect it had on her was incredible, so she primal screamed. It was a great respite as she headed for the trenches of B&K. The beauty was it reduced her stress and anxiety maybe the traffic snarl became an unexpected blessing. It might spare her the ordeal of meeting Alicia Davidson face-to-face this afternoon. She heard rumor she arrived a day early to make sure accommodations were adequate.

Jazz and her car broke free of the juggernaut and made good headway for the rest of her commute. Once she pulled into her parking space read Ms. Jazz Kelly; she loved this piece of cement. Her desk awaited her, and she needed to get there before Liz found out she was late. Moving toward the lobby entrance at a brisk trot she fought to hold herself upright. Against the gusting wind off the Bay, she made slow headway. As she neared the safety of the lobby door, a deluge of rain with only twenty feet to go.

She sprinted across the slick pavement her inner voice warned her not to slip, between harping on her for the forgotten umbrella. Jazz didn't notice in her distracted state, the heavy glass door swinging open. Bang! The unattractiveness of a broken nose dulled compared to her resemblance to the Bride of Frankenstein this morning. Jazz didn't even want to think of the possibilities bats could live in her hair. Man, Liz, won't be happy to see her in this condition. Not after the dressing down, she got yesterday on her grooming.

Knowing full well good things never happen when bosses notice these glitches in personal care. She found it necessary to lock herself in the office to pull the required B&K look together. The right dress emulating a cohesive and professional style was everything in this company.

Then rampant paranoia set in, and she became convinced Liz would spot her in the lobby. Write-ups logged in her employee file were not good they could derail a career. Before it got started her manic mental ranting's interrupted when Jazz stopped and took in her surroundings.

It was as if light from heaven came through the glass no matter, how pressed for time, she may be. The lobby always slowed her pace to appreciate the moment today. She paused as she often did to honor the architect. Thirty seconds to acknowledge the genius created this space.

The lobby was spectacular, as far as, lobbies go. While the fourth through the eighteenth floors occupied by B & K, were the cutting edge of cool. But, the lobby decor much more in keeping with, Jazz's personal taste was flawless she loved understated and white.

She pushed past the security guard and punched the call button with her knuckle. She stood ready to roll and tapped her foot frustrated and apprehensive. The longer she was in the public space, the more risk of fall under the discerning eye of Liz McNeil.

Those visions had her pushing buttons with furious determination glanced at her watch and cursed, under her breath. Today had only begun and had come to a grinding halt. The chances of getting everything together in time for Gianni Payne tomorrow looked slim. Not even the elevator cooperated she kicked the door of the elevator in frustration.

She glimpsed the bemused security guard, she noticed his bemused expression. Screw him this man didn't know what pressure she lived under daily. At the moment, the bell sounded, and the doors to the elevator opened. Once in the privacy of the elevator, she made a valiant effort, to spruce up her look. After a quick trip, she exited on her floor. Jazz noticed Daphne signaling. She was trying to communicate something to Jazz, but with the phone glued to her ear communication limited to hand gestures. Daphne was busy doing other things with other things to do besides wait.

Instinct told her not to dawdle in the executive lobby too long. She got drenched to the bone and looked every inch the drowned rat. Jazz was sure her current look was not what Liz had in mind. When did they discuss the B&K look last night during her lectureship talk? She responded to Daphne's silent wave in a managed stage whisper, "Daphne in a minute let me get this to my desk."

She didn't miss a step or slow down in her pace Jazz was on the move while she reviewed her mental list. There couldn't be a break until the powers above found her worthy of an assistant. Daphne always tried, but she helped everyone much of the staff who worked on her new floor. Didn't have the luck of working with an assistant as Jazz did she counted herself fortunate for the privilege of waiting her turn for help. But, delays didn't always conform to her deadlines.

She approached her office morning, she thought it odd her office door stood ajar. In her mind, she recalled the door locked behind her when she left yesterday. Jazz made a mental note to inquire who and why breached her lackadaisical security. Jazz had only gratitude it saved her thirty seconds of time. She bumped the door with her hip thanking her lucky stars; she dropped none of it even though she had a few hairy moments. After she had carried everything became a juggling act, thankfully she made it to her office. She set the stack on the desk disaster struck she had misjudged the distance. The whole pile of paperwork went everywhere.

Her fist clenched up and then released the loudest primal scream of the morning. The relief it brought her on the bridge, had been fantastic. She had no worries anyone eavesdrops after a while it became a sanctuary for many of her coworkers and clients. It was far enough away from the vortex of craziness people sought out her space.

At first, when she moved, into the office, she felt isolated and out of the loop. But not anymore she came to love the space relishing the total privacy. She tucked away far from the craziness. Her coworkers dropped by to vent were safe from prying ears.

For days, she had been running back and forth between offices, executives, and floors. On a day filled with chaos, when her office location was fantastic. She head straight for Daphne, hoping no catastrophe of any proportions had happened this morning. Confused and exasperated back at her office Murphy's Law guaranteed. Gianni Payne in the ass arrived a day early. Daphne assured her the grapevine was spot on with this one. This couldn't be happening to her losing the entire day for polishing her timeline which guaranteed a flawless tour.

Instead, of working, she would babysit a writer with a nightmare of an assistant. It promised twenty hours of extra work over the weekend. She hated the reality now a compromise was necessary. But, there was no choice she still had a ton of details to iron out in a tight time frame.

The work left to do was daunting and detail not enjoyable in her current state of agitated exhaustion. This eliminated any chance of a compromise she fumed as she opened the door. Unsure of what or whom she'd be facing, but nobody sat in her small space. Thank God for a false alarm proof, not even Daphne was immune from the B&K rumor mill. She should have known better; Gianni couldn't be in her office unless he were the Invisible Man.

Jazz spun the chair around and sat absorbed in the file so distracted she didn't notice at first how weird the chair molded to her body. The weight of the seat didn't penetrate her brain until she landed on someone's lap. Or at least lap of someone she knew and Dear God, not Gianni Payne. She fought to free her from the lap she realized too late Mr. Payne had arrived. He grabbed her by the waist laughing his ass off with juvenile glee. It made her want to smack him she anger turned to absolute fury when he laughed. Then to make matters worse, he leaned back in the chair.

This caused the chair to tip further back causing them to lay out with Jazz on top it was sordid and unprofessional. What on earth are you doing let me up and hand those cards over this minute." Instead of giving them to her, Gianni reached his free arm into his pocket and read off one of her cards. He used the voice of an over the top Shakespearian actor thinking himself funny.

"I found your book the best I've ever read. This work is a giant among the next generation of writers." Locked in a reclined position on his lap she was looking into his stunning blue eyes. She heard his laughter try to escape although he did his best to contain a huge guffaw much to her chagrin.

Gianni didn't have the style or decency to look embarrassed. He sprang the seat forward releasing her. "Please, tell me, you were not planning on using this bullshit with me?" By the end, he was laughing so hard he had to wipe tears out of his eyes.

Any interest she might have had empathy for this arrogant putz became moot. Gianni Payne on his best day was despicable. "Please turn over my notes I'm not amused."

He chuckled continuing to read the cards as he spun around her chair as if it were playground carousel. "You make it look so natural when you create fiction and write contemporary plot lines. The people he created were vivid and real. I got the impression they came to life on the page. You can't be serious with this stuff. Come on is someone's leg is getting pulled. There are no writers out there who believe this crap is there?"

"I said; give me my papers back, please." Their eyes were locked in a battle of will both refusing to agree to the other.

Gianni stood kicking the chair back, "Get them from me if you think you can."

"Time to stop the games Mr. Payne we have a demanding schedule. While I appreciate your humor, the time is now to tell this story." Jazz had worked her ass off organizing each step of this West Coast tour she made a grab for her notes.

Gianni could make a good chunk of cash from this, and yet he showed little or no respect for her efforts. She didn't understand how Gianni made her consider the possibility she was a complete moron. Plus the shame suffered for years to come thinking of this moment.

She became frustrated with the game of keep away his behavior reflected a boorish indifference to her. Gianni was intent on playing the mean boy of the schoolyard. He taunted her with the flatter cards the gall of this guy.

He had nerve she wanted her cards back, and he was playing games she had no intention of playing the pawn. For all, she cared he could keep the damn cards was he going to pull her pigtails at recess until she yelled Uncle?

This man was an idiot in the purest sense of the word. He was doing his best to bait her; Jazz knew it but couldn't resist biting. "Enough is enough," Jazz slammed the flat of her palm against the desk. Papers flew up into the air; she winced as her hand stung from the impact.

She refused, but, to give him the smug satisfaction of rubbing her burning palm. Damn though she knew a quick rub was necessary because of the painful sting. The unmitigated ass took great pleasure watching her rub her hand.

Her ego bruised worse than the pain in her hand. But when she spoke abject humiliation made her voice squeaked. She sounded like a spoiled, narcissistic twelve-year-old. The image she preferred was a professional getting control of a difficult client. Now she behaved like a petulant child, and she knew it wasn't impressive. Part of the reason she had the regret had to do with her voice. She wanted to project strength as he tried to pull her back into the chair. Not the first impression, she expected to make. Since she committed to the move, she had to accept the path of indignation. If any hope of success to control this mad man became possible, although she doubted it was possible.

"I refuse to play with a grown man, read away when you're done with your teen antics can we, please, get our business done first?"

She hated the pleading tone her voice transmitted. Next, she switched it up to the no-nonsense comforting voice, coupled with rigid body language. Gianni showed her he differed from other writers. There were a few issues getting into her groove her timing was off. She thought it resulted from Gianni's suggestive banter was hard to manage. "What will happen if I refuse? Are you going to spank me Jazz?"

The room lit up as if it were the Fourth of July she got blown away with his dazzling smile. Oh yeah, this guy was a heartbreaker Gianni could go to hell. She wasn't a simpering bowled over neophyte.

His smile projected a boyish, sheepish grin with a sprinkling of rouge. He was sexier than most men never mind her circle, which made it tough to resist his charms. Despite her intention of remaining aloof, in charge and responsible, the guy was a wisecracking charmer. Gianni's laugh was well-known and infectious. When the laughter died into a self-conscious chuckle tapering off until it stopped slid into dead silence. "The speech is familiar I've read it in your emails, but the face does not complete the picture I had of you. I can't imagine someone your age having so much on the ball, my guess is a tough cookie sits before me."

They regained their composure with effort and shook hands with vigor, to set up boundaries. Jazz's enjoyment of being recognized for hard work and talent wasn't rated. "Right I'm one tough cookie Mr. Payne don't let my youthfulness distract from my solid performance as a Tour Manager."

"No madam I will not make a mistake again I promise."

"Okay, I'm glad we have understood. Now I thought we'd spend the morning out in the garden. We have plenty to do now the fog has lifted, and the rain has stopped shall we work in the roof garden? Look the sun is coming out which makes me happy let's go outside to the rooftop garden and enjoy the day."

"I'd be glad to work anywhere except this teeny, hot office. Sure whatever let's go for it the garden sounds superb. Besides, it's safer for you up there where you're in the open." Gianni had a killer smile dear god, this man exuded style from every pore.

"We are burning daylight let's roll little lady. We move onward and upward to heights of brilliance and massive sales." With direct command Gianni, got up and out the door. Let him go, sure asshole, keep it I'll allow you to find your own way out.

She wished him luck in the hallway maze this was payback for the chair humiliation. After she walked her clients out was par for the course unless they were jerks. If it was the case, they were on their own and good luck. Her regulars had their own devices for managing the maze of hallways. One rock star dropped candies then he worked his way back eating them up the hallway out to the lobby. Another client ran a line of yarn it was minutes later she found Gianni. He could wander, aimless through the labyrinth of hallways.

He better watch out; she could be as wicked of a person as he was even though she smiled and nodded in the affirmative. To show she had the control and Gianni only thought he did. They exited out to decking, and she directed Gianni to a table. After she had ordered coffee and a Charcuterie Platter, she received eye rolls from Gianni. Until he spotted the candy corn mixed with Spanish peanuts on the table.

It's his preferred writing snack this confirmed his suspicions she was the researcher so yeah; she was more than capable. He noted she got Spanish peanut husk still on in his opinion was impressive.

"Pay attention Gianni, or we will be here the entire day, please. Organize the next few weeks of your life. Your questions will get answered ahead of time now if we can focus, please."

She reprimanded him as he picked through the candy corn and peanuts. Gianni sighed exasperated she had a ruthless streak. He gave in and for the next four hours with several coffees and beer for Gianni.

They reviewed his schedule two weeks of breakneck personal appearances and fan interaction. If she were writing a professional review of this first meeting, she'd give Gianni five stars. He was a total charmer with the right enough edge to keep him interesting.

Jazz had been warm and hospitable with a professional boundary was unbreakable. It became an uphill battle of resistance, it was tough keeping up a professional barrier. She created physical barriers with the desk, chair, and the trashcan. With the goal of keeping him on the other side while Gianni, worked hard, to remove the barrier. "No Gianni flirting isn't allowed, business is business and love, well love is bullshit, Mr. Payne."

Then he insisted they share lunch he had been hounding her morning. "Let's continue this at a romantic French bistro I'm told has incredible food and wine pairings and is romantic."

"Today I have to work."

"If not today, when can you answer a question with a yes? Tomorrow, the day after, life is short how am I supposed to flirt with you when we never make it out of a damn cubicle in your mind."

"Gianni you can be so melodramatic loosen up I don't want you trapped in the cubicle. Fly free, right now we have enjoyed a morning in the garden fun right?"

"This roof is not a place to socialize Jazz at least for the kind I have in mind. I can see how hard they have tried to make this place has the vibe of a Japanese Tea Garden the designer didn't bring to fruition."

"Oh, come on now it's a great space I come here to put my head in a creative space, and I can expand my mind."

"I remind you your place of employment. Whoa, how weird was Jazz? Wow, did you just feel a vibration?"

"For the record, there is no attraction for you what you are experiencing is easily explained in a geography class. It happens since the last quake." Jazz so rattled by his stare, couldn't make eye contact. She stuttered appalled at her junior high school reaction to Gianni.

"You're a beautiful liar because there was a spark between us a moment ago. It wasn't slight or in my imagination come on the earth moved." She focused her full concentration on the papers she held.

After several passes through the papers, she became busy sorting her cards again. When Gianni laid his hand on Jazz's wrist, she had a sense of the sheer force of his will. She shuffled her cards it was her only salvation. It annoyed Gianni he cocked his head to the side glaring at her with undisguised arrogance.

Gianni brought out her vulnerability. Her impression of him was in a mysterious way, he opened his soul to her. After a long silence filled with an unspoken need, his voice caressing. She lacked better analogies it was a velvet gloved hand, massaging her soul.

"You Jazz, appear attracted to me, you've heard of a moth who keeps flying into the flame it's going to be us."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Yes, my dear you may beg my pardon." He was smiling, and his eyes were twinkling, and he was adorable. But she couldn't give in and keep face. "I am through with smart mouth of yours can't charm me."

It was a lie, and Gianni knew it but when he pulled her chair towards him; his breath was warm on her neck. Warm and damp he smelled of peppermint and coffee it sent shivers of pleasure coursing through her.

"Really I don't believe it's only me there's something between us."

"What are you referring to Mr. Payne?"

"Us is what I'm talking it happened again. You want me to accept you didn't get a funny tingle in your stomach."

"Sorry, nothing happened for me." Jazz spoke with innocence she hoped it rankled him. Gianni Payne was a total ass.

"Okay, if it gives you a better perspective to be the boss and take control we'll stick to business for now."

"Thank you, Mr. Payne, I appreciate your understanding."

"Why not pencil us in, though? Champagne, roses, soft music the essential elements needed for romance. Think of it as a small thank you from me to you."

"The work isn't done yet it has to get finished before you can call it a job well done. Until then it's a guess, don't you think."

"Relax your mind the small detail will work out no worries everything will be perfect I've got a sense about these things. This one is in the bag trust me." Gianni continued to move closer to Jazz as he spoke in a voice dripping in seduction. There wasn't much she could do to control his behavior. Besides, it confused her and excited her, but the kibosh on this budding flirtation had to happen. She increased the physical space between them.

"Jazz you satisfy me with your charm and talent. After this tour, you'll not have memories, but an incredible gift. Both riches and your wildest dreams are within your grasp." He now stood above her and bent grazing her with his lips and brushing her hair with his hand. When Gianni caressed her cheek and murmured into her hair. It was as if she got frozen in time.

"Hello, I hope I'm not interrupting an important meeting. Sorry for barging in unannounced," Jazz recognized the voice with an arched eyebrow and venom dripping off each word. It belied the smile this woman single-handed turned Jazz's sleep into torture. Her emotional coping skills turned to mush by this vindictive woman.

With the form of emotion, jealousy, possessiveness what? She rescued Jazz from the kiss, and it had promised to be a decent one, and maybe she wanted it. Alicia was three pounds of crazy, crammed into a two-pound sack.

Jazz didn't enjoy being forced to interact with crazy, but under the circumstances, she had no choice. It's difficult to ignore Alicia's presence when she stood over someone looking like a female sumo wrestler.

The way she stood looked as if she were challenging Jazz to go a few rounds. She waited to see what Gianni's response to Alicia's aggressive entry and pugnacious attitude. To her amazement, Gianni appeared not to notice she realized they had an unusual way of communicating.

His voice sounded laid back, unpretentious but determined to continue with his seduction efforts. "Yes, it's imperative, and yes you have created an interruption. Alicia, I will call, liar, liar pants on fire. You don't now nor have you ever had a real sorry, bone in your body, Alicia. Sorry for laughing but come on did I cover the approved responses?"

Gianni's volley back made Alicia winced the impact of his words were flesh tearing. She pulled back on her aggression reverting to humble. "Sorry, Gianni I finished the rewrites early. I thought you'd take your favorite gal pal to eat whose starving." Alicia tried to sound efficient, but in Jazz's mind, she was sad and old.

"If we can talk this hard working gal into coming with us, allow me to introduce you, girls. Jazz Kelly, my assistant Alicia Davidson Alicia she is the young lady whose life you turned into pure hell. Say hello and be polite play nice."

Alicia had skin resembled an alabaster sculpture; with black holes where her eyes should be there was no sign of her soul, they were dead. She had a weird habit of glaring which projected a wild look with a tad of crazy thrown in the mix. Every time Jazz looked at her and saw a death mask. The return gaze was always full of hate directed straight at Jazz.

"Your early arrival doesn't mean I'm any more ready than I was yesterday. It means I have to finish up the details and a ton of other things to get ready so enjoy your meal."

"I won't, not without you."

"I'll be here when you get back it might start the staff talking if I joined you outside the office. The gossip is horrible around this place."

Gianni turned back to her unaware of the silent sizing up going on between the two combatants. "Jazz your concern for professional impropriety is admirable no worries we have a chaperone."

He jerked his head in Alicia's direction which pulled her smack dab into the middle of the game. His goal was to have her take part in his efforts, "Alicia, there's a no fraternizing here at the firm, but she's using it to an unfair advantage. She did it to conceal her deeper emotions and sense of vulnerability. Oh yes, look she's blushing I told you. I enjoy it when I'm right." He studied her with what she supposed was a rising interest. Then he continued unperturbed, "I never realized women still blush. I thought with the equality ballyhoo happening in your gender. Blushing was a thing of the past it's cute, refreshing."

"Mr. Payne I don't blush the heat has caused a burn, on the left coast, we call sunburn."

"It's blush. Maybe I see it because I recognize your secret no worries. I know a lustful woman inside you now you only have to discover her."

Jazz had a warm flush rising on her face with confidence and great effort, she controlled her breathing while waves of heat washed over her. She attempted to sit without letting him know how much he affected her, it was hard to fake aplomb. The game appeared hard to win against a worthy opponent as Gianni.

"Why not, give in now let's not bother with formalities? I have determined you might be, woman for me, my dear. Mine for life do you understand?"

Surprise etched on her face after Gianni's long-winded monolog; Alicia reacted thunderstruck not sure what to make of this display of affection. Gianni couldn't stop expressing his feelings they were.

"My God Gianni, you sound as if you're the hero of a Victorian novel." Alicia interrupted intending to halt the direction. This meeting was heading right into a war of wills. They had a strange, complicated relationship which Jazz didn't need to know the details.

"You're disgusting stop drooling over this girl it's sickening." Alicia. "Sorry, if my blatant display of affection for this young woman perceived as something sexual and tawdry."

Gianni appeared indifferent to the silent vibe of resentment Jazz's rage radiated off Alicia so much, so she became ill watching. Alicia's tried to intervene to change the tone of the meeting fell flat. Gianni didn't appear to be astute at reading his assistant. "Alicia, tell her if she doesn't come with me to lunch she'd be making a big mistake. I can't in good conscience, allow her to err."

"Mr. Payne, what is your plan, as your Tour Manager, I have maintained my rights of freedom of choice."

"I'll go to a Senior Partner if I have to I'm warning you Jazz. Stan, the Man, will send a memo ordering my Tour Manager to lunch with me. He will write it in your job description I'll throw my wild card if I must. But you better be ready to fold your hand I'm calling your bluff."

"I'm not hungry I had a late breakfast."

"There is no change possible with destiny it whacks the whole universe out of kilter. Do you recall what happened to Superman when he tried it? Give in this resistance is futile can't you see? Try as you'll no winner in this game Jazz."

Perched on the corner of the patio table, Gianni looked edible for a young woman. With her first electric meeting with a man blew her mind. He stared at her without saying another word waiting for her to agree. As if he knew, it was a matter of time.

The behavior was infuriating and arrogant typical of the writers she had met. Once again Alicia cut through the heat of the moment with a scathing tone. This time, it warranted a head turn from Gianni.

"For pity's sake, stop threatening the poor girl if she's not hungry, so be it. We'll go the two of us; it does not torture to eat lunch with me is it?" Alicia near hysterical; her high and tinny pleas sounded desperate which was not her plan.

He ignored Alicia focusing instead on his new interest. "Why don't you grab your coat? Otherwise, I'm prepared to start my climb, up the corporate ladder for a direct order."

Jazz pretended to sigh with exasperation as she slumped in feigned defeat "I give in Mr. Payne."

Gianni crowed with triumph "wait and see rewards will rain upon you for making a sound decision. Mr. Payne is far too formal call me, Gianni."

Jazz rose to leave still not convinced this was good for her yeah; she'd what was coming to her for agreeing to this madness. They walked as a group toward the bank of elevators. She mulled over the morning's events to remember how she ended up in this mess.

She made up her mind not to go to lunch with Gianni regardless of what he threatened. Until Alicia acted so bitchy once dynamic came into play wild horses wouldn't keep her away at the point. Famished and ready to feed roasted crow to her rival Alicia.

In the elevator, the butterflies were bouncing around her stomach. She stood next to this gorgeous man elicited hot waves of hormones. They coursed through her body making her flushed and dizzy. Given the close quarters, they shared she was afraid her attraction was undeniable. He radiated sexuality, and she was hapless to resist.

Gianni became a magnet drawing her close even as she resisted the allure he pulled her deep into a passion. Given her relative state of inexperience, it became life altering.

Lunch went well until Alicia had the third glass of wine. Alicia's blatant hostility towards Jazz rose. With each drink, her pettiness increased. Gianni blocked Alicia out she didn't even exist. Later she realized started a slow burn in Gianni's assistant.

Gianni sensed the passion possible from this awkward woman, girl combination. He was experiencing one of those moments he was famous for creating fiction. Alicia's instincts knew she lost the battle the, but the war had begun.

Jazz was relieved when she got to the quiet space of her office. Alicia's acid-laced comments increased in meanness as Gianni's open interest in her grew. By the time lunch was over their friends with benefits relationship was too much to deal with in long increments. She was a human Ping-Pong ball pounded in a death match. The battle between two gladiators slugging it out for victory was ugly. Gianni watched as Alicia's behavior toward Jazz had become more combative. The bait and switch routine was standard behavior for Alicia and Gianni. Their relationship had developed into weird symbiotic sickness.

To her, their interaction was odd he didn't react it didn't bother him. It wasn't any of her business, but she thought it was weird. After the disaster, at the restaurant she made quick realizations. One of which had to do with the obvious fact. Alicia thought of Gianni as her boss with benefits. Her protective tiger might be fine in New York, but here in sunny California, her protection mode was a block to his progress. He could appreciate Alicia's concern as Gianni had committed to seducing her.

The success of his mission depended on Gianni keeping Alicia working far away from Jazz's organized tour. He moved her out of the hotel, feigning writer's block. His pal Liz got the keys to the extra loft space provided to him by B&K. The problem got solved for Gianni when he went to go check it out and was pleased to note it was a luxury hotel. He'd been provided a great suite, and the loft was equal in luxury, perfect for Alicia. In his opinion, she deserved to pamper, and he made sure it happened. There's an account opened for her with full spa and dining room privileges.

The four-star restaurant sat off the beaten path and had become well-known for their fresh seafood dishes and wine list. Encouraged Jazz to enjoy the city by taking in the sights and get a tan. Every day he kept her busy with rewrites on his latest book.

Every night he made sure she had something fun and exciting to do. Gianni could think of little, but his exhaustion. He stayed up writing and hung with Jazz most days doing appearances and interviews.

She didn't book too many evening gigs, and the time he and Jazz socialized and got to know each other. He kept Alicia busy; he avoided another unpleasant interaction between the ladies. Alicia didn't share Gianni's high opinion of his client services manager.

She wrote it off as female bitchiness, he didn't know what Alicia's issue might be. Nor did he give a shit Gianni sense of confidence his new lady was not a neurotic. She had a face and body but better than; she had the demeanor of a guileless angel. There was no sign of one unkind bone in her body. She and Gianni spent magic times together. It became a flirting, giggling; sexual mating rituals practiced over eons. Private jokes, shared thoughts, and unintended sensual touches meshed. Because of the perfect promotion Jazz organized and created, there was little to do for the duration.

She resigned herself to being a guest in Gianni's world. She discovered with Gianni around life got lived at warp speed. They spent every moment together it took lots of self-discipline to protect her professional reputation. If they ever got caught fraternizing, she could lose her job. So she never invited Gianni to her home and insisted they meet in public places. There were moments in time she knew they had known one another forever. He shared those same feelings with her at the city's most famous Martini Bar. Amazed at the peace of mind possible around him is what she told herself.

Able to sense both of them ready to be swept by the undercurrent of longing to take hold. The passion remained unspoken with purposeful distractions. They were heading home after nights at the movies both were enjoying the moment with no resistance.

His need for a deeper level of intimacy with her was overwhelming. She didn't know when it happened, but this relationship while passionate was deeper and more complex than a casual fling.

If they got around to it great, but Gianni wanted to stay around her she could tell. Take tonight they spent the whole time laughing as if they were maniacs. Then stuffing their faces with popcorn topped with two dips of melted, butter. The butter smearing over their faces reminded him of the joy of childhood and the Saturday matinee. She talked him into buying a carton of milk duds. As they walked, he watched in amazement as she tossed the candy up in the air and caught it in her mouth.

Gianni couldn't take his eyes off her lips. "You know when you do it makes those kissable lips of yours an obsession for me. I want to experience the sweet and salty I know you are Jazz. I can't explain it; things don't always make any sense. Do you believe in reincarnation or karmic fate?"

She experienced surprised by the question considering issue often this past week herself. There were times she had a distinct impression their individual souls at either shared the same space. As if this relationship or whatever it's transcended another time and place beyond their grasp. Not the first time around for their souls together. It didn't happen the one time either clears to both they had spent a few lifetimes together. To dismiss the enormity of what intended to be a flippant smart ass, response and failed. "I'm born; I live blah, blah, blah, I die."

"Do you believe for real or is this your try at false bravado designed as a protective mechanism, so you don't sound desperate?"

It amazed her how well Gianni knew private things he shouldn't, and it was eerie. She was falling hard for this guy but accepting it was tantamount to hurting her upward mobility. If Liz got wind of any impropriety, she'd never speak to Jazz again.

"I'm an individual assessing facts to my clients I'm not one who believes in fairy tales or mystical legends. I have too much experience, in reality, to believe in happy ever after forever."

"Oh Jazz you're wrong everybody needs to have something to believe. I ascribe to the past life school of thought. Tell me Ms. Smarty Pants if we haven't met in a past life, how you explain the feelings, the sparks, or the rhythm between us what fate is."

"I'm happy which doesn't happen much in my life Gianni if I were honest. Is straight forward enough in your estimation? Gianni doesn't kid yourself I know what's happening your goal is to seduce me. I act aloof and cautious because I sense things about you; ergo you play the charming and debonair card."

"You're not aloof but the walking definition of hot. I believe it's my purpose of our preordained destiny to sweep you off your feet."

"Anybody in mind for the job, Gianni, or is it a potluck?" Gianni touched her shoulder with his index finger.

He traced a heart with their initials in the center, topped off with an invisible arrow through it. "What do you mean who me who else Jazz?"

It proved difficult to breathe without staying and breathing was difficult keeping the ruggedness out of her breath trying to keep discretion. She knew by turning toward Gianni, a mere eighth of an inch He'd deliver the kiss she fantasized for days over Gianni's lips on hers. The reality became intermingled with her daydreams, and if he did it this minute, she would roll with it.

The tension became unbearable time it was time to stop end the spell out of absolute survival. "What a coincidence I'm here not to find love but to manage your tour."

"I'm serious this thing between us Jazz what else explains the penchant we share for non-verbal communication skills? Remember in the movie when kooky radio host bopped his head on the microphone? We were both cracking up over the same thing. Can anyone explain attraction?"

"Fight it with everything, but I know of what I speak. Fate has something in store for us." Towards the end, of the West Coast leg of the journey, she dreaded Gianni moving on without her. Jazz knew his humor and spontaneity would leave a big empty spot in her daily life. Self-denial was ridiculous her future needed to include romance and a lot of Gianni Payne.

Friday dawned bright and sunny it was Gianni's last weekend in town she stared up at the ceiling. She wondered how this romance could survive maybe the love she had for him was a figment of her imagination.

The man was a natural flirt he was the guy who didn't remember what he said one minute after he spoke. It was possible the words meant nothing; it was a game he played. Besides, over the last few weeks, she detected plenty of resentments from Alicia, the Hun. Oh yeah, Gianni and Alicia were lovers in an affair of the sort.

She bounded from her bed it was six forty-five she had breakfast scheduled at eight o'clock with Gianni. On thought she stopped daydreaming and went to get dressed; traffic could be a nightmare during the morning commute.

Later day as they walked along the narrow winding streets of downtown the ribbon of windows twinkled in the winter sun. They seemed to invite shoppers to browse the antique shops and find a plethora of treasures waiting for discovery. The spirit of love surrounded the space she thought Gianni looked the part of any tourist, who intermixed with beleaguered commuters. He sat watching trolley pass when she noticed his eyes scanning the windows across the street.

"Hey, can we make a detour in the shop over there?"

"How fun I love antique stores." Gianni acted surprised when she dragged him toward the nearest shop. She moved at breakneck speed, oblivious to the danger of traffic and cable cars.

"It's not an antique store my beloved it's a junk shop."

"Want to go in or not?"

"We have time to kill, am I wrong?"

"There isn't much time because my goal is to stay on schedule. We have to keep our professionalism even when you decide it's time for fun and games."

"Oh, my heaven forbids, we commit the unpardonable sin of tardiness. I have learned a lesson from the events of last week."

"Gianni stops, I'm not uptight I'm not. I love junk stores too; I'm crazy for copper. To date, I've spent hours searching for a perfect copper tea kettle. I'll have a sense when I see it, I'm sure, and someday my fireplace will be the perfect spot to read in my beach house."

"My dear you make it as a challenge. I accept let's get the perfect kettle it's in here all we have to do is find it." Gianni stepped over to the old oak door of the shop and put his arm around her waist.

He pulled her in with him, "If we find it, we'll have our confirmation destiny wants us together for eternity." When they entered the shop as if the Gods overheard him there sat the ultimate copper tea kettle. Given the ornate design with a dull patina, it fits the old need.

He walked right over to it with no care at the price the clerk was one big smile of someone who sensed a sale was coming. "This is the one; a few words come to mind. One word describes this teapot perfection."

"Gianni I said nothing, not a word it's creepy you made the statement."

"I see it and so do you, and it is perfect, not for everybody given the intricate design. For us, its perfection I know you agree. Because I'm right, and we both have the same sense of wonder with it."

She paused then answered with complete honesty, "Yes."

"Fine I said we'll take it, I'm excited we have made our first buy as a couple. This is remarkable Jazz isn't it reassuring to have a grounded relationship?"

"I have to consider how much my half will cost."

"A gift is a gift; to ask how much is crass Liz might classify your behavior as gauche. Allow me an awkward moment to say thanks."

The sales lady in a discreet whisper requested six hundred eighty-two and seventy-four cents. "Will be cash, checks, or charge, sir?"

Tea kettle in hand Gianni stopped at a street vendor and purchased two Italian pieces of ice as they exited the antique shop. They spent several minutes enjoying the antics of a trained monkey and continued toward the limousine.

They walked the picturesque sidewalk arm in arm, enjoying their frozen treat. Gianni rambled, "Jazz my dear did it escape your attention this will be my last weekend in town?"

"Don't forget I made the schedule and I'll enforce it, Mr. Payne."

"Monday I hit the road to complete this massive tour. My schedule was booked by someone who shall stay nameless. Who guaranteed to make me suffer isolated and alone on the road for weeks at a time?"

"You're not going to be alone the ever efficient Alicia will be at your side."

"Yes, I go with my crazy assistant unsupervised by you."

Jazz smiled and raised her face to the sun; he had such a dramatic personality. "Gianni you give me far too much credit I can't control Alicia and her craziness."

"I have to give credit where credit's due little lady. Maybe not with Alicia's crazy, but, the sales have been the highest ever. Listen until I get back here, for another visit you stay single. I don't want to return to find you a married woman or something. I'm going off to war this schedule is booked tight for the next three months allowing no time for fun."

Gianni watched her eating ice cream. Jazz realized he wasn't kidding; he had become obsessed with her lips. His voice, while teasing in tone didn't belie his persistent undercurrent of sex. "Did you do on purpose Jazz Kelly?"

"What happened to the guy who wants to make money? I'm trying to help you get it done, Gianni." She smiled at him.

"This leads me to believe you have no love in your heart for me. I thought we meant something to one another. I can't handle thinking of our separation."

"Now, you're acting silly, I booked you because it's my job, and I do my job."

Gianni wiped his hands on his jean's Jazz surprised to see how passionate he became. "The mere thought of one night without seeing the woman of my dreams. Makes me weep; the thought is unbearable, I'll be hundreds of miles away."

He spotted a bench next to the fountain in the downtown center and headed right for it. As if they had nothing to do but sit on random park benches with no concept of the schedule needed keep.

Her plans meant little to him given the leisurely way he sat his long legs sticking out blocking the sidewalk. She realized Gianni had stayed put at least for a while she learned by now not to dominate Gianni into action.

It represents nothing, but a negative influence on her she fought her time management demons daily. Circumstances dictated for her to make adjustments for Gianni's time management baggage too. If this continued, they'd be late to his last booking. Gianni appeared nonplussed because it wasn't his job on the line. Each time she encouraged him to get serious his mood switch got flipped, and they reflected on a gorgeous day. The ice cream tasted delicious, it was refreshing, after a long, sweet silence between them. His tone when he spoke was matter-of-fact he looked at Jazz. She shivered when she saw the intensity of his gaze.

"I think you 're scared and I can't blame you but I bring out the woman in you." Gianni whistled the melody line of Singing in the Rain before she reacted he began an impressive version. Gianni danced around the rim of the fountain. He used brilliant and advanced tap maneuvers; a street musician played along and picked up the melody line. Then another had joined in soon Gianni had the entire outdoor mall watching. Then he danced with a strolling quintet following close behind playing incredible music. Gianni stood out as a complete contradiction of terms. In her opinion he was a brooding, manic, writer then there was this person who channeled moments of a tap impresario on acid.

Gianni was a lunatic, but when he completed the dance, he was a complete gentleman bowing to a rousing round of applause. The charmed pedestrians who stopped to marvel at the sexy man and his impromptu performance sucked Jazz right into his lair. Everyone around them was enjoying this moment of street theater to break up an otherwise dull day of business. She would have to be an iceberg not to have her soul delighted with this minx of a man. "Where did talent come from, Mr. Payne if I may be so bold as to ask? You're a mysterious Renaissance man and dashing too."

"To tell the truth, I have a secret dream of starring in a big musical. Is a secret I, keep, but I'll share it with you because—well—you're scheduled by destiny for you. You're someone significant in my life."

"Please, stop Gianni this has been too much fun now go nail this last interview; then you're home free." Jazz ducked into a waiting limousine.

"I've felt abandoned in this limousine all week I tried to bribe you with ice cream and distract you with a song and dance. It was my effort at charming you, and it worked. Otherwise, I'd still be back here by myself. But desperate measures often call for drastic action. If I have to sing and dance to keep your cute butt off the streetcar and in here, I will."

Gianni stayed behind her as they walked to the car, and she sensed he wasn't in the mood to hide his feelings. His frustration became obvious when he pulled the door shut.

Any personal interaction had the potential to destroy their established professional give and take. Too much hard work had gone into maintaining balance. Jazz would give into the lust ruining everything took so long to build.

"Gianni I have explained this a million times. I have a busy schedule. I realize as bewildering as this maybe I have other clients to take care. It has been easier to meet at the different events. Fear has nothing, and Gianni I mean nothing, to do with it."

"You have made a try several times to avoid giving me a kiss, you owe me."

"What the hell I owe you a kiss? Where on earth did your belief come from? I owe you nothing."

"I'll collect a debt on my schedule the kiss is mine. I call the shots in my life, no one else; this is a pivotal flaw I have. One you should remember." He chucked her under the chin as if to soften the blow of his unintended firm tone.

"The way you work out your thoughts is of little or no significance. They have little to no value on the work I do for you. I have issues with you one of them is I hate bullshit. For me, it's impossible to tolerate on any level."

She slid across the seat to the opposite side of the car wanting space between them. Her tone sounded as if she were reprimanding an errant child.

"I'm professional Mr. Payne, I may look young, but I can handle myself and you."

"But what does your heart say when it speaks to you late at night?"

"I see the same handsome, charismatic guy everyone else does." She noticed Gianni made his move toward her.

His body moved as if he was a panther on the hunt ready to pounce. She quickened her speech, words tumbling out shielding her from the inevitable pass.

"But please remember; it's not helpful for either one of us to get involved, on a personal level. You're misconstruing my intentions they're nothing but professional with no underlining wink, wink, nudge."

When Gianni spoke, his tone surprised her it was soft and provocative. More of a verbal caress than a conversation it put her off balance; and was hypnotizing. "I analyze every move; I make after reviewing the information available."

"Well, well then so we understand each other."

"In my mind, I have decided dinner, with my Tour Manager is mandatory. With no business thoughts, or talk on the minutia of this book tour. As in creating a date night, you understand now, don't you Jazz?"

Gianni read her mind and slid the last six inches over towards her. Jazz marveled at his passing, oh so confident manner. Gianni used the right turn as an excuse to creep closer. His use of these base tricks was deplorable. She might let him get away the shenanigans.

But, the powers in charge would show no tolerance of this scene playing out in the back of the limousine. She became confident about the danger she was in of jeopardizing her career. "Gianni let's review the rules."

"Jazz I hate rules."

"Number one at the firm is staying away from direct involvement with clients. Rule number two is when in doubt, refer to rule number one. I admit an unbelievable attraction towards you." She had trouble catching her breath as Gianni stared right through her.

Even with a challenge to keep filling her lungs with air her mind and mouth forced to keep working. "I've noticed women find you irresistible and you expect a reaction. I don't find you attractive and don't care how you perceive me. I want you to show me respect. Your appreciation for the job I have done is enough stop hitting on me; it's disrespectful."

The object of his lust which was a pleasant thought, but she was proud of herself for regaining full control, then Gianni kissed her.

"Jazz, I violated rule two." Jazz couldn't even respond to his lovemaking; she noticed their connection hit him as hard.

"Young lady, I have become an addiction for you I can't kick, don't laugh it's true. You look skeptical Jazz as if you don't believe me. Look in the mirror the reflection you see will be one fabulous woman. How am I going to live life without you? I can't believe there could be a life without you."

She knew this wasn't the last time he'd try to kiss her, and she had no plans of blocking the move. Gianni knew what she needed from a man and delivered. She backed away to regain control; she couldn't stop shaking. While she knew it was imperative, she remained calm, and a grip on reality wasn't a huge success.

Truth told, her resistant ship was sinking it was an empty effort she planned to keep up her guard. There could be no giving into him the car pulled over to the curb the chauffeur opened the door. As she stepped out, he grabbed her wrist. "I have to do my last interview and get ready; we have a date tonight. I expect nothing short of edible." The only way he'd let her go was for her to agree to the meeting place.

His hotel had a lounge, and they could enjoy dinner and drinks. Gianni released her with a smack on her fanny made her jump and him laugh. She went on in reflection she was thankful, the limousine had been soundproof, and the panel tinted.

After forty minutes of collecting her thoughts alone in her office, she came back to reality. Ready to shop she negotiated with herself. Everything for the tour kick off was in the final report. It included the timeline, budget, and projected earnings were on Liz's desk.

There was still a list, but she had personal time coming her way today the perfect day to use it; she had to look edible. Whatever meant it might take effort and creativity but she was leaving early.

She hated emotions one of many reasons she managed artist it seemed ironic her starring role as an organizational genius. Is a major reason they assigned her to Gianni but tonight, Gianni expected a hot woman, and she planned on giving him one.

He wanted eight hours of alone time with his vixen, so he bought Alicia two tickets to the Symphony, as a bonus. Gianni asked Elizabeth to take Alicia out somewhere, anywhere. Gianni wanted her occupied. Either accidental or otherwise to crash his party Gianni had planned. Gianni decided this job he could do without Alicia as his right arm. After limousine ride, nothing could stop what he planned to happen between him and Jazz. Not until he got everything he needed from this special and ideal woman.
Chapter Twelve

The Conversation at dinner became verbal sparring matches.

"I want lots of kids with the woman I marry, with the right woman."

"Verses with the wrong woman being a deal breaker Gianni? Who makes the decision she's the right woman? What if she starts out as a good one then changes into the wrong woman halfway through the game Gianni?"

His voice dropped to the now familiar seductive whisper this meeting with him rated high on the turn on top ten. "Let's stop talking; dance with me I want you in my arms." He led her out to the dance floor any physical contact was dangerous with this man. Feeling a nanosecond of guilt because, of Phillip, backing out crossed her mind.

Then again there were no agreements between them. They had dated in the last few years and had always been honest with each other about their mutual lack of interest in settling. Phillip projected a stodgy, conservative lifestyle and was dull and dependable.

Gianni lived his life at the moment he radiated charisma and was tough to resist. They were as different as two people could manage. His voice and demeanor left nothing to the imagination; he was in charge.

Common reason eluded her euphoria replaced any rational sense. It was poor judgment decided upon because it sounded too easy. But, Jazz knew she couldn't unload responsibility it had nothing to do with the champagne, the music or dance. She wanted everything he offered but could she be satisfied with one night? Or if this were a relationship, she'd have forever.

She had taken him with no conditions on any terms, he hypnotized her. One minute she had been dancing in a public place. The next he'd swept her up in his massive arms and carried her into the penthouse suite.

Her subconscious mind and even in her conscious mind must have had a vague awareness, riding up the elevator. The reality of this man affected her worse than any drug could. He kicked open the French door to the master bedroom.

Her self-perception leaned towards of a determined woman. With this man, the realization she had no power to resist him was disturbing and exciting. It wasn't her imagination Gianni had called her, his woman. She couldn't figure out if he meant it for real. They lay together, two spoons in a dish where she found peace.

When she opened her eyes to a glorious morning, it fit her mood. The morning after her night with Gianni was unforgettable and held the promise of love. Before she rolled over, she had assumed Gianni was still sleeping. To her surprise, his side was empty.

She crept out of bed, eyeing the enormous room while she wrapped up in the satin comforter. Wearing the decadent fabric as a second skin was a testament to her statuesque body. The way it encased her nude body knocked him out besides she loved the way the satin caressed her nakedness.

It was akin to a pampered silk worm emerging from a cocoon she projected every inch the seductive woman she paused for a nanosecond before swinging open the bathroom door.

Gianni had been here she surmised steam still visible on the chrome towel racks. She could smell the lingering scent of Gianni's aftershave. His skill level as a lower ranked off the charts, primitive and satisfying.

The memory of the night brought her as much enjoyment remembering when it crept, into her subconscious, she grinned. Well, nearly as much pleasure. Never had she never felt so right, so happy, so in love. Gianni had proven an adoring and passionate lover. His animal instincts and masterful sexuality created the best of both worlds for a woman.

She made her way throughout the suite, but he was nowhere to be found not even a note. Her mind was writing possible scenarios, and a few were not pleasant to consider. She resolved it as a serious error in judgment on her part. Sure the champagne helped her compromise standards she set for herself. Jazz recognized the enormity of the repercussions if Liz found out where she spent last night she'd have hell to pay. Even worse than where she slept was who she spent it with, "Oh my, God. What the fuck am I doing, what have I done?" Nor was it going to end well she slept with a client. Oh, dear god how could she be so stupid?

Her heart was pounding, and waves of remorse mixed with anxiety overwhelmed her. "Where did I put my damn clothes?" She had been yelling into an empty room at nobody which made her fill silly. When she noticed the red blinking message light and was unsure of her next move.

Should she pick up the messages or let Gianni grab them? She erred on the side of caution and curiosity pushing the button. Which connected her to the hotel operator, she waited with bated breath until the desk clerk finished her greeting. Then Jazz requested the messages and the hotel operator obliged with no problem.

"I have three here; two for, Payne one for Kelly. Can I give them to you now my shift is ending?" She squealed out her affirmative response one person knew where to find her. Thrilled she had not misinterpreted last night it happened as she remembered.

His passion was no joke he said those things, he had done everything but propose marriage. Well, he at least implied they had a future. Giggling with girlish excitement, jotted the messages from Alicia and the others.

She placed them on the table for Gianni to see had second thoughts and read for herself. The first was at nine, ten last evening, and the final one came in at one thirty in the morning. Gianni left her a message simple, meet me Top of the Mark 8 pm is on time baby don't make me wait. Yours forever Gianni.

His arrogance was there to see, no contact information provided marveling at his assumption Jazz would show up when he summoned her for an audience. Nothing would get in her way going after her destiny. After one last look at the messages from Alicia, she shoved them into her purse.

You leave two messages for her the man she loved and loved her back. You can forget her playing deli delivery girl. The bitch could find someone else to play messenger. Besides, it left little doubt, which Alicia had connected with Gianni. These were hours old even if they were red code priority; she wouldn't deliver them.

Experiencing, her first day of pampering she noted to herself every Saturday she should spend doing these hedonistic things. Her day befitted the lover of a successful Hollywood writer. Who appeared on the bestseller list and was a Rhodes Scholar.

He shared with her last night. Imagine sharing the unpublished story was a sign of high trust. He had his best-selling suspense novel Don't Blink Twice getting optioned by a studio they wanted him to direct the film nobody, but she knew the results.

Imagining and planning her fantasy occupied a big part of the day. She scheduled a quick lunch between her manicure, pedicure, facial, hairstyle, massage, new dress, and shoes the works. She got so busy getting ready for the most life changing date she could have missed out. Jazz despised the anticipation stress from speculating on what might happen at this dinner.

It wore on her leaving her impatient with everyone around her. This whole dating Gianni thing had her on edge. The cab driver followed the worst routes she was certain it was on purpose. Her stress became compounded due to him driving at the slowest possible speed. The door attendant stood in her way, and they did a dance.

She surprised the owner, and his staff was rude and indifferent Jazz stayed in this frenzy helpless to rein it in for hours. She berated herself for every little decision made in her wardrobe, hair, make-up, and outfit for her date.

The worst part was she had veered out of control, and only one person blamed her. When she arrived, there was no Gianni, a bit relieved she dashed into the ladies room to freshen up and regroup.

Afterward, she made her way confidently to the elegant lounge she ordered a white wine Spritzer. His tardiness had begun to make her nervous where could he be? Could he be giving her the bums rush?

He couldn't come up with a thing to plead his case unless his apology included dinner and he better hurry. After Jazz, spent the last seven dollars to pay for the drink and tip she sat with an empty purse and heavy heart. She realized there wasn't enough for BART fare, which broke her heart. She never thought she had been this broke again. No matter, it didn't change who she was in two days she got paid?

It seemed a backward direction showing a complete lack of progress. Jazz hated weakness and to sit idle with no progress. It's what broke equated to with zero dollars and zilch cents on her debit card until payday it was disconcerting. Here she sat in clothes; she shouldn't be wearing she paid an outrageous price for on sale. While she was shopping at the boutique, it was easy to assuage her guilt by convincing herself it was an investment. Once again the problems to face what she created due to her arrogance and poor choices.

Jazz spent three months of condo payments on this dress, not the brightest move but she looked incredible. She still thought the there was something salvageable. After a brief silent pep talk, her glow of happiness still looked tarnished to her eye. She doubted him and hoped she was wrong. But there comes the point, a girl needs to admit when she'd get duped like now. Two cocktail dresses in as many days she thought would be an investment for a life of happiness. Now her efforts were for nothing.

Nervousness replaced concern with a tinge of foreboding which turned into worry when Gianni was still a no show ten minutes later. She had given him thirty more minutes than she had considered him late. Timeliness wasn't a skill set he possessed Gianni's breed of cat was not always conducive to responsible, time management skills. Jazz reassured her fragile ego with the adage, better late than never worked for a moment.

Lord knows; the challenges she would face raising his children although she'd enjoy finding out. She glanced again at her watch after an hour, and a half. Then another forty-five minutes passed sadness gave way to full-blown rage.

She was angry and had no car or the money for a return cab after she fell for the oldest line in the book. Everything associated with Gianni had her in a slow burn. By nine-thirty, her blood sugar dropped to a new low. Disappointment, rage, and anger transformed into a prideful Kevlar plated determination. Not able to call a so-called friend from work. It did her sick thinking how fast this story could flood the interoffice email.

For her, it was a fate worse than death in the business world where Jazz now lived and thrived. She had to get a grip on reality; the meter reader would be a better choice to call if she had his number. Not Liz, for sure, she was the last person Jazz wanted to find out about the details of her ignorant behavior. If she had anything to say about which thank god she did.

Under the circumstances, to support her status at work calling anyone from work was a no-brainer. If this got out, her reputation and her livelihood shot. Her career over at twenty-three, from a self-inflicted wound of stupidity what the hell. She could take the seven-mile hike through the ghettos. Jazz could do it she had a tougher will than most people knew when her feet hurt she'd take off her shoes and walk barefoot. There was no thought or concern for her safety she didn't even care if each step might be the one to ruin her twenty-four dollar stockings.

It shamed her to think of the egocentric behavior which she blamed for her penchant for the way she spent money on such frivolous items. When children were starving to death and living in huts. She squared her shoulders as if to gather up her physical strength. If Gianni found her, she'd refuse the ride, if he never showed up, it was his lost. She wouldn't allow Gianni to treat her with disrespect as if she were an easy piece of ass he picked up in a bar. It went against her grain to accept his negative interpretation of who she was as a person.

He had it wrong, his whole perception of her was wrong she wasn't a convenience. Gianni could try to assassinate her character, but she couldn't let it happen without a fight. To be exact, he picked her up in a conference room not a bar, but six of one-half dozen of another if anyone cared to get technical.

The doorman saw her coming and had to rush to open the door, and she saw the fear on his face. As she strode along the memory of her glorious night muddled her thinking. Night changed her forever more than even she could have ever imagined. The anger had been exorcised from her body by the fifth mile. She left feeling tired, resigned, used up, and unable to grasp why she had allowed this to happen.

Tonight's lesson would be remembered by her as a whopping dose of adult reality six miles into the walk. She accepted the night as crap she venting out loud acting the part of a crazy woman she felt "I'm nothing, but a one-night-stand; there, I said it."

Her anger dissipated as the rain set in this whole Gianni thing had turned this day into a shit magnet. From the outset so to finish with a disaster was weird in a comfortable way. When she reached her front door, pure relief flooded her body.

She was ready to relax but first there was a matter of finding out what happened to Mr. Payne the Rat. The minute she entered her house she wasted no time. Angry, she dialed the number to the historic four-star hotel they housed writers.

Her fingers knew the number well the hotel she slept in the night before with Gianni. When she looked at her hands, she noted they were shaking with rage. She had no trouble keeping it together.

It's an easy gig for her, under most circumstances but impossible with this form of insult thrust at her. While she waited for the switchboard at the hotel to answer seconds ticked by like hours, it was nerve wracking.

After waiting for eternity, the operator greeted her with the standard, professional greeting. "May I have a penthouse, please?"

"I'm sorry the guest requested we hold his I'm instructed to take messages care to leave one?"

"No, no message, thanks." She hung up, and then dialed another number, this time, it was the studio sleeping space. The agency leased it out for writers to use for business, and always professional Alicia had been staying there.

Jazz was hopeful she knew where her boss had holed up for the night. Alicia answered so Jazz couldn't help, but wonder if she hadn't been waiting for the call. Her sultry voice cooed into the phone, "Alicia here."

"Y-Yes," she stammered tongue tied, intimidated by the voice of this woman. "I'm trying to contact Gianni."

"There is a long line of unattached women in Los Angeles who had the same idea honey. It's a short flight from Los Angeles."

"This is me Alicia; I ah thought I had a dinner appointment with Gianni do you have any idea where he might be, is he okay?"

She paced in a circle until she became lightheaded which made it necessary to slide onto the couch. Then drop her head between her knees to stop the dizziness.

"Gianni mentioned you might be calling."

"Oh, the relief, incredible I knew there'd be an explanation; see I had this crazy, horrible night. I missed him at the restaurant. I could never explain in, a million years, how awful tonight has been. Here, I'm babbling away, sorry, what is the message, Alicia?"

The bottom fell out of her world Jazz found she dropped right back to emotional chaos with Alicia's next words. They cut through her, as if, she used a knife.

"No message, he said, you might call any other questions?"

"Nothing thanks, this conversation has been most helpful; everything has come into focus now, thank you."

In a brief conversation, her worst fears confirmed a pro had used her and played her fiddle style.
Chapter Thirteen

One week of her sick leave got used up, and she blamed the workload for weakening her resistance. She developed the full-blown flu and sent to bed by doctors' orders. Locked in her apartment, her childish refusal to answer the phone didn't settle well with Phillip.

After four days, Phillip showed up at her door and told her he wasn't going anywhere. His plan was to stay until she agreed to see him when at last she did. He presented her with a container of chicken noodle soup.

She was touched by his thoughtfulness; she broke and was a grieving emotional mess. Much of her outburst based on her guilt, convinced her she had to come clean. She confessed to the whole sordid affair with Gianni and apologized.

After begging Phillip for his forgiveness, she reinforced to him the lack of commitment between them. The truth hurt, she decided for them to continue seeing each other was not a good thing.

She and Phillip could have stayed friends, but she was convinced he lost his trust in her. Even though she had hoped for a different outcome, it ended in the worse case scenario. Phillip might have helped reduce the pain Gianni's treachery caused. But it would have been a seriously unhealthy relationship.

She returned to work without passion she got through her days on autopilot. Her refuge became the nighttime when it was possible to hide by crawling into bed and sleeping. Jazz felt exhausted, her sleeping time was interrupted by dreams of Gianni. She knew, at her age, there could be no excuse for mourning a two-week relationship.

She couldn't stop the waves of sadness and emptiness enveloped her. Days turned into weeks, and somewhere out there it was life as usual. As if nothing happened between them. Unable to put food in her mouth, she felt ill.

The thought of eating made her sick to her stomach. She felt nervous and anxious. She was a wreck, worse still she didn't rest when sleep came. The exception of her sleepless nights were the short naps she had taken they broke up the restlessness with hours. When she paced the length of her condo no longer, the place of her dreams, her home was a prison, she couldn't afford. She walked the floors in her apartment most of the night so exhausted; it became impossible to fall asleep. Her salvation from angst was the brief naps happened anywhere, tongues were wagging.

It was several weeks later she got sick for the second time. Liz wrote it off as a relapse and made, she goes home early day. She spent hundreds of hours crying, she refused offers from co-workers to join them for happy hours. For weeks, she didn't go out if Gianni called her instinct told her only once. Every day she sat insane with anxiety, two weeks into the wait still no call.

By the next month, she'd calmed enough to resolve her anger making it easier to separate her emotions from her logic. Gianni never committed to her; he knew nothing about her as a person. She had been expedient and available who could blame him?

Her behavior alone should reassure him his judgment had been sound? She might settle for an occasional one-night stand with him. If he'd call, she had had the thought she should call him. Jazz felt desperate for any form of communication with him.

She'd grovel for this man who opened her Pandora's Box of sexuality. Jazz worked to keep control of the memories Gianni flooded her with emotion and mixed feelings. She attempted to call him, but he wasn't available she wasn't including the voicemail messages he didn't return.

He acted as if she wasn't worthy of his time to blow her off it was obvious Gianni had no interest in pursuing a relationship. Alicia assured her Mr. Payne received his messages she didn't mention. Determined what did or didn't make up a message, and the bitch didn't even acknowledge Jazz as a blip on the radar.

She couldn't let go as a last resort there was the personal email, and she took it. Once she sent it Jazz was confident of a reply, but she received nothing.

In her heart, she knew it was over, whatever, they shared was no more. She had miscalculated Alicia's ability to take part in duplicitous behavior was unmatched by mere mortals. She had to be a witch Jazz grew frightened by her behavior or crazy over her proprietary right of Gianni around women.

It was true with ladies she perceived as a threat to her long-term happiness. Never imagining the email had gotten hijacked common sense told Jazz Alicia didn't have access to it. Evidence of the truth stared her in the face she couldn't deny it any longer. Gianni drop kicked her to the curb screw him, enough is enough, this whole mess needed to end on her terms. The reality in it's purest form was, he dumped her, and it stung as much as any wasp. There were days she felt like a snake bit her.

Alicia made it her mission to find the password and log in Gianni considered his private off limit's email. It had taken seven hundred and fifty dollars and a superb bottle of scotch. The university kid, she hired broke the code; she had the password.

Oblivious to Alicia's tactics he presumed it was due to a lack of interests. His estimation was San Francisco could fall within the limits of a reasonable drive or flight. Gianni convinced himself because Alicia took care of his life he had asked her to handle the arrangements.

Gianni was too tired to plan the details busy with the frigging schedule crazy girl booked and his movie. The truth was he didn't want her pissed off for blowing the gig either. She had this tone intimidated Gianni knew, deep inside his soul her behavior was a personal rejection. Heartbreak was something he didn't handle well; to put it mildly. Could it be his age didn't allow for the sexual animal of his youth to be free? He roamed the streets of LA meeting women on every corner. Gianni still loved Jazz to his deepest core and with passionate emotion.

She dropped him which he still didn't understand sure Jazz had gotten swept away by him as he fell for her. He couldn't imagine why on earth she hadn't responded to his efforts to communicate.

The solution to dumping him to respond, becoming too busy to see him again. It was bad enough to be stood up the least he felt he deserved was an apology. Gianni felt guilty rescheduling their dinner from Saturday to Sunday night.

Shit happened, in his business, she was going to need to adapt to this new normal. His woman had to adjust her expectations of their social life. When the executive producers showed up unannounced what choice did he have, but to reschedule?

When she did the no-show Sunday night, he got pissed. He felt miffed he couldn't get used to the idea he'd got played. She acted like a spoiled brat, and it left Gianni unimpressed. How could she behave in such an ungrateful way? He didn't remember her being this immature she was smart, but it didn't mean her perception of the film business was correct.

He needed an Executive Producer, and the guy wanted a meeting was he supposed to screw up the works for a dinner out with Jazz? Gianni didn't get it she should have called him at the least and thanked him for the flowers. There had been lots of flowers sent, and he questioned Alicia how much the total was he spent on flowers.

Enough to call for a courtesy thanks he made a note to ask Alicia when he was ready. To try and have a discussion about Jazz with her was a pain. In her estimation, the love of his life viewed him as an old man. Who had aged past his prime and headed downhill? It was true she was a mere babe in the woods compared to his ripe old age of thirty-three. Alicia requested time to go over the expenses. It sparked Gianni's memory, "Oh yeah out of curiosity, how much have I spent on flowers for her."

She pulled herself together stammering, "I-I'm not sure off hand, I ran it through my miscellaneous petty cash. I have a bottom line expense figure. I can have it itemized and ready to review by this afternoon if you want."

"Alicia, can you give me a print out of how much Jazz and her mood swing has cost me."

"You bet I'll get to it this afternoon." Silently she rebelled though screw her we have spent nothing up till now. Nor will it happen she didn't appreciate Gianni throwing their relationship aside with no more thought than yesterday's dessert. The nerve of Gianni he'd pay for this one.

Someday she'd tell him what she thought of his behavior the girl to show him. Hell could freeze over, and Alicia refused to send flowers to little bitch. Nine years she had worked for him nine years, and she never received flowers not once.

She had been around longer than this one-night stand he was determined to turn into a lifelong relationship. She was delivering no messages, sending no flowers or cooperating in this ridiculous sham of a relationship. Maybe she'd send flowers to her funeral.

There was no other choice but to dummy up floral receipts but she wouldn't assist in this relationship caused too much pain she couldn't do it. Alicia didn't mind hurting other people. If she enjoyed it, she drew the line at causing pain to herself under any circumstances. Gianni was guilty of the same issues her father struggled with after her mother died.

Whoever did it, the treatment was wrong they shouldn't make her think she was dispensable. It was her efforts to be an emotional Band-Aid she perceived as a two-pronged bonus. It kept her in the loop but was not without the risk of ending up broke and screwed. Her mother had left Alicia over a quarter of a million dollars, and her father spent the entire inheritance on trashy women. They were priorities for his time attention she had been a loyal and loving daughter to her father, always.

How did he repay her devotion? Did her father give one rat's ass for Alicia and her needs? No, he got too busy banging bitch, Priscilla. It's enough he replaced her beloved mother with a tramp. Betrayed when her Dad allowed the bitch to dictate their relationship.

He's her father for pity sake; he's the one who betrays her. There's a moment she always remembered. What a kick she got out of her father ending up broke, miserable, and alone. Alicia's emotional maturity level matched of a mean-spirited teenager.

She had no sympathy for her father when Priscilla died. It served him right; she thought Alicia thought her father saw the pain she suffered when her mother died. Instead, he lived in a pity pot of his own making what a bastard.

Alicia hated her father for dying; he left her alone coping with the problems he created. Oh, she took care of it the indignation of his deception, not realized by her until his death. The attorney read the will out loud Alicia stunned her father had so much resentment.

She humiliated him outlining his loathing of her. He thought he could force her to dance a jig to the beat he drummed. The will stated she'd be cut out without a cent if she fought the will. Alicia agreed unwillingly, she was given no choice.

It was her money the legitimate daughter deserved the money. Who won the war? Alicia scores two; her Dad had zilch, and she came out the winner. Alicia never wanted Gianni to see her obsessive manic behavior. She didn't relish another rejection because of her alleged mental illness.

They had told her father; she had a bipolar issue; mixed with something else they called narcissism. The doctors told him Alicia's diagnosis. A sociopath with paranoid delusions he believed what the doctors said.

Her Doctor called her a psychotic imagine the nerve to say such things. She had a few symptoms mentioned, but, she always wrote it off to her imagination. She had never admitted there were issues to the doctors or anybody else. Besides, it did them no good to guess they couldn't prove it so they shouldn't tell her father.

What quality doctor would base a diagnosis without proof? Didn't he care what anyone thought only she knew what was in her best interest? Alicia's dad said it changed nothing between them. But, she knew everything was different in his eyes he looked at her.

There was fear where once there was love. Now she was his daughter who crazy. No matter how often he tried to convince her, he hadn't stopped loving her. Her father was a pathetic liar he let her problems affect their relationship. Alicia could tell her father chose not to spend time with her. After not once did he come, see her at the sanitarium. His death when it came rid her of the pain of betrayal. His behavior caused a deep sense of distrust within her. It taught her to use the same tactics in her relationships.

She loved Gianni since he hired her low wages first went with the job supplemented, with a ton of fun. The first day he took her on a tour of every sleazy hot dog stand and greasy burger shack in NYC. Without hesitation, she took the job he offered. Alicia had fallen for him with one look at his startling blue eyes. It was her dream to marry him during the last nine years; she became more than an assistant to his author.

They became one at least in the professional sense she always corrected herself for now. Alicia was Gianni's business wife the relationship suited her Alicia assumed Gianni felt the same way. The first time they were intimate Gianni made a huge issue setting the ground rules. "Here are the rules Alicia, no jealousy, no commitment, and no future. If it sounds worth your while, when it works, we'll get together." She had no interest in a personal relationship regardless of the rules. "Sure Gianni sounds good; it makes sense."

"Let me add this, so we both understand the rules. I'm not ready for a relationship with anybody right now. I'd enjoy an open, straightforward physical gig."

It reassured Gianni he should think of her as a convenience the same as the deli on the corner delivered if memory served her right. Alicia's facade built around the myth unlike most of her gender. She could have a sexual relationship with a man and never develop needy dependencies.

The reality is she had to do a better job to keep a foothold in the door of Gianni's life. Gianni wanted the convenience Alicia afforded him. Whatever it took to keep things Status quo is what she did. The relationship needed to change but not at one time.

Her dedication for Gianni was absolute Alicia claimed him years ago her plans didn't include the loss of their relationship. She wouldn't let a bimbo change her life. If she wanted it changed, which she didn't, she'd do it herself which was ridiculous to consider right now.

Change is always traumatic for Alicia she wanted no part of having to change her routine, apartment or life. This girl Gianni professed to have these feeling for who he barely knows. It made Alicia see red and the thought of taking the bitch out into the woods and leaving her crossed her mind.

This was no joke the girl was getting her claws in this man over Alicia's dead body. Gianni belonged to her, and Jazz better understand it wasn't their relationship wasn't going to happen. Most women in Gianni's life got her silent messages, not this one she didn't get it.

Alicia wanted to teach her the same lesson, she taught Priscilla; screw around with Alicia end up dead. Nobody got Gianni away from her, under any circumstance. Alicia had to dispose of several women; it was easy they had trouble with him never being available.

They were vain women easy to send packing into another dimension. God forbid there be a missed appointment or screw-up in phone calls. Even the slightest oops could shatter any hope of a future. They had a warped perception of their value. Gianni always felt devastated when he got dumped.

Alicia repeated her pitch of woman who wanted one thing from him. His complete and unadulterated attention number one in Gianni's life anything less was unacceptable. Most couldn't handle the enemy which was his commitment to his career. He always understood and had moved on it wasn't in him to react broken hearted for long.

His pattern never included obsessing over a woman he never reacted grief-stricken when one of his relationships failed. Until now, Gianni had acted possessed by this woman he constantly speculated on why she didn't respond to his efforts. Alicia ran out of excuses, and Gianni had made noises he would call the girl she couldn't let it happen.

She had enough of Gianni and his daily torture sessions. Her mind got fried, daily, as he forced her to listen while he bemoaned his fate. He never tired of talking daily bitching and kvetching over this girl.

Every day of the week; it made her insane with rage the little whore must be a dream in the sack. There appeared to be no other reason to explain Gianni's obsession. Her worth rated a zero in Alicia's mind who knew she wasn't a natural in the looks department.

But she worked hard to glamorize her ordinary looks and succeeded. She used the tools at her disposal and used the tips in magazines and make-up artist she met through Gianni.

Of those tools, the most important was a brilliant surgeon. Thanks to Gianni's success and generosity, she had a nose job, liposuction, her eyes lifted, her ears clipped, and her tummy tucked. Alicia scheduled her cheeks for renovation later same year.

It was around the same time she hired a personal trainer moved into a duplex with a doorman. The place decorated with the best taste money could buy. She took years, but she gained access to Gianni's bank accounts. It helped out when Alicia had a cash crunch from time to time.

Sometimes it was necessary to borrow or bonus herself people might call it theft or embezzlement. Alicia called what she issued herself a bonus as no one deserved it more this philosophy allowed for her to gift herself on behalf of Gianni.

Alicia protected from discovery because of Gianni's trust her reward for the dedication and commitment to his career. During those lean years, with no complaints she'd always been a good sport; Alicia stuck to the bargain. Sooner or later, Gianni, I realize how much he needed her. She expected to tell him the funny stories of what she'd done.

He'd think it was wild and crazy and oh yes they'd get a big laugh. By then he'd understand this was all done to protect him. It was up to Alicia to keep the enemy off balance until he came to his senses. At last, he would swear he didn't love Jazz, and there was never anyone, but her.

Alicia knew, they'd make love someday and what a pleasant change from servicing his sexual needs. It was time for them to kick it up a notch and form a bond of love and respect. When it happened, he'd beg for her forgiveness. She'd be complete and fulfilled, and Alicia lived for the day she was Mrs. Gianni Payne.

"This can't be we were together once besides, it was my first time." She continued to babble covering many ridiculous topics. If she could talk the Doctor out of his diagnosis, everything might be back to normal. Her parting argument landed a useless grenade at the Doctor's feet.

"I'm too young how does a mother act I have no experience in mothering. Don't you understand I've never babysat for gods sakes?"

The Doctor shrugged, "Well I don't know about your qualifications, but in case, no one ever filled you in on the details. It takes once, and it does not matter if it's your first or your hundredth time. Talk to my secretary to schedule an appointment. We can have this problem ended."

Shocked at what she heard coming from the doctors' mouth. Termination of the pregnancy must be a sick joke. She couldn't be pregnant there impossible how did they come to this point in the conversation? "Want me to spell it out? Young lady, the pregnancy test came back positive. I suppose we will need to schedule a termination."

The Doctor droned on he offered other options, including adoption. She heard enough to make her feel like she might be ill at any moment. The nurse at the front desk called out after her. "Do you want another appointment?"

Jazz didn't even bother to respond; she had never come back here. Even though, she was unsure what her plans included one thing was sure. None of the options the Doctor discussed worked for her.

Back at Barney & Kivingston's, Jazz tried, albeit with little success, to put the distressing news out of her mind. The problem, with her pregnancy, was going to be managing it'd be a balancing act of moments. Complete panic or euphoria enveloped her depending on the moment. The thought of being a mother brought tears to her eyes, and the emotions threatened to overwhelm her.

Two weeks into her pregnancy she was having a hard time controlling her constant hunger. Since breakfast, she'd been contemplating her lunch options because of her ridiculous hunger pains. But not as much as last hour her craving for tuna on rye had become an overwhelming need.

At noon straight up she dashed to the cafe picked up her tuna sandwich. Then she added chips and a big gooey brownie and large chocolate milk. She locked herself inside her office and ate as if there were no tomorrow for another meal. She had a bite of lunch at your desk which got frowned upon at B&K, but sometimes a girl had to risk it. When the phone rang, Jazz considered not answering the phone as she was polishing off the brownie and milk. It kept ringing and so she wiped her hands with one of her wet naps. Whoever she pursued it was with the persistent of a bulldog with a bone. Her focus was back on business.

"Client services how I can help you."

"Hi Baby" a voice breathed through the receiver. The mere sound of his voice went right through her. It registered a seven point three on the emotional rector scale knowing, who owned the sweet, velvet voice sent shivers up her back. She hated herself for the joy rushed through her from the sound of Gianni's voice.

It worked as a salve for her emotional wounds. Gianni's tone of voice let Jazz know he was confident in his seduction. She suspected he wanted her to play dead like a passive Neanderthal. Did he think she should be grateful because he deemed to call?

She wasn't going to give him a free pass on his behavior and brush it under the rug. Mr. Payne picked the wrong day to call her. He may think of her as a whore, but she knew better. With no trace of warmth, Jazz lets him have it.

"Hello baby, yourself, it shows nerve to call out of the blue acting as if nothing is wrong." As the words tumbled out her hands were busy sifting through the drawers of her desk. She went on a search for the candy, she kept for full on stress in frustration, and she slammed each drawer shut after a complete shakedown of the contents.

She never broke her stride as she read Gianni the riot act. "When they were passing out decency, kindness, and caring you were at the back of the line." In the middle of her diatribe, she paused when she spotted a box of candy.

She ripped off the paper and popped another of the delicious concoctions in her mouth. The chocolate endorphins went off, and the soothing properties of chocolate kicked into gear. Her speech sounded garbled due to the chocolate.

"Did you have a Martini lunch today?"

"Don't be an ass I can't drink and work the way I do it's not funny those sorts of rumors could hurt my career."

"Jazz you're still pissed off at me for what I can't fathom?"

"Gianni it's time to set the record straight. If you think for one minute, I have wasted my time spending one minute thinking about you dream on idle dreamer."

Jazz grabbed a tissue damn she hated it when she cried. She swallowed hard and decided she had to stop this sotto relationship in its tracks. "You're dead wrong it meant nothing."

She popped another candy in her mouth and thought Gianni sounded his usual arrogant self. He drawled at her, "Is this how you tell men dinner is out of the question by chance." It felt fantastic to hang up the man is insufferable.

What made him think she was the least bit interested in seeing him? The phone rang terrified to pick it up for fear Gianni was calling back. There was no resisting him, and she resented he could still control her, and she played to allow it to get forwarded to Daphne.

It was automatic after seven rings, but it couldn't show up on her audit reports because Liz might ask questions. Her professionalism won out, picking up the phone she fell back on her training and sounded professional.

"Client Services," She breathed into the receiver knowing full well it was him. But this time, she was back in control and allowed the silence to grow. Until the moment, her rage boiled over when he refused to take the hint.

"Please tell me in, straightforward English why you're in such rage and anger toward me? I can try to fix it?" Jazz tried to speak, but nothing came out except more outraged noises. "To be frank Jazz, one problem we have is your stubbornness coupled with your inability to roll with the flow." His condescending tone grated on her nerves.

"Go with what flow, Gianni, are you referring to Alicia's bullshit flow?"

"Okay, Jazz then there's this whole anti-Alicia sentiment you project regularly. I know for the most part her reputation is well earned, but part of it is in your head."

Gianni and his cocky self-serving behavior were getting worse as he got further into his groove. She heard a more offensive tone of voice and could imagine the superior shit leaning back in his chair feet up on the desk. Oh yes, she could imagine how he relished this moment.

Never one to back off from a fight Gianni enjoyed and became known for speaking his mind. "Want to talk arrogance? It takes nerve in my book for you to call me arrogant. Jazz you're without a doubt the most arrogant woman I have ever met." His smooth voice acted as a combustible liquid flaming her anger. Gianni wouldn't stop the behavior she found so offensive until he was damn good and ready to stop. Until then she'd eat more chocolate and try to forget him.

"At least, I made an effort at courtesy, unlike you, who has behaved as if you're a snarling, aggressive Whippet."

"Oh, Jazz come on from what I heard you pissed off the operator you know the one who answered the switchboard. I know this to be true because Alicia showed me a message. It was from the management complaining guess who?" sing a tone of authority while spewing outright lies, spun by his psycho assistant Alicia.

She felt so angry she sputtered when trying to speak. "I waited then perfect idiot I am walked seven miles home. Because I'm out of money and transit passes, I could have drowned in a pouring rainstorm."

"Now, I'm responsible for this crappy weather? Let me ask you this Jazz, am I in need of an alibi because I promise you, I was too busy in a production meeting."

"Don't get arrogant with me Gianni I don't want to hear it."

"Oh forgive me for working my ass off to save my film project. I don't have time to arrange for you to get doused in a rain storm."

"You're an unmitigated ass."

"Come on Jazz common sense is supposed to tell you not to walk seven or eight miles in a torrential rainstorm. I've got one word for you Jazz, Taxi."

"Don't make fun of me I now have the worst flu of my life. I go to the Doctor only to find out it turned into something worse. Not worse a better word might be different plus I'm sick with a virus. I spent money which I couldn't afford on a dress you never saw."

"Oh, come on you can't try to pin your poor management issues on me to Jazz."

"As for the accusation you made yes, it's true I have been rude to Alicia, I plead guilty. What isn't true is the fabrication and twisting of the truth, Alicia is pedaling."

Jazz felt hot emotion rising because of a need for control. It was a matter of pride no way could she allow him the pleasure of hearing her lose it. Nor did she relish playing the victim.

"This whole thing is a product of your crazy girlfriend's mental illness. Complete with handmade props and a script. Since you're a writer and a talented artist, your outlandish behavior is forgiven. Come on Gianni let's talk insane behavior, jeez."

Amazing, she managed, in a single-handed move to wipe out the rest of the candy box. She dug in her purse, desperate for sugar but found nothing for her efforts. She found it, lint laden sugarless breath mint. Any port in a storm those were the rules of the game it was sugar-free, and all she could get at the moment.

Gianni's tone of voice changed she realized he was setting a warm and congenial one to suck her into his web. But, she refused to buy into his hustle. "Can you tell me what the problem is between us Jazz? Are you inspired to give me a hint?"

Falling into the arms of this man who she loved is what she wanted to do. Memories threatened even now to rob her of sound judgment and common sense. Afraid to speak, for fear her voice gave away the cornucopia of feelings thrashing around inside her heart.

Devastated with the empty box she consumed it was a silent bully. Her stomach churned intestinal chaos was underway nausea hit hard putting an end to this discussion.

"Hello— Jazz? Can you hear me?" She sat for a minute, without responding she knew what she had to do. She hung up the phone ending any chance to reconcile their love affair.

During the next few hours, she gave serious thought to the repercussions of her decision. Regardless of what the circumstances had been, she conceived a child and she would raise this baby without Gianni. Not adopt, not end, and not wrap it up in a newspaper disposed of with little ceremony in a bus station.

She was having a baby the two be a small family Jazz would be the mother of her dreams. There's no need for Gianni he'd never know the secret she carried within her. Her instinct said to bypass the questions; he'd have about his paternity. They were together one night; because he might think less of her as a woman. She lifted her hand from the receiver she swore from this moment on Gianni Payne became a "was." After reviewing the conversation, Jazz convinced herself he didn't cause the pounding of her heart.

This same ability to allowing her dreams to manifest at night, but the current feeling her increase in blood pressure. Caused by pregnancy, yes it was the baby responsible for her blood pressure problems. Health issues resolved she had a mountain of work. Now she was the head of household with a family to support. It's a challenge, and she knew it was rising to the occasion could be the game changer. She had a goal of being a great mom and success and it hinged on her financial security. Jazz had to tell Liz she was pregnant but she'd save it for another day.

Gianni opened his humidor and reached in for a cigar during the ensuing silence. He saved his cigars for memorable moments today was one of those inspirational cigar smoking opportunities. His mind was preparing a final thrust of the dominating blade. He planned on showing her who was in charge of this rodeo.

Not enough of a fool to grovel and beg he wanted the old Gianni back. Confident and whatever else he used to emulate not whipped a dog. He wouldn't allow her to dismiss him and crush his self-esteem. As he lit a celebratory Stogie, he heard the hum of a dead phone line.

He sat thunderstruck; did she hang up on him her nerve was unbelievable who the hell did she think she was the Queen of Sheba? He decided his tolerance over this whole issue had disappeared. His heart and soul had put in major effort into letting her know he had the heart of a good guy.

He even acted the part of a gentleman often now; he felt humiliated. No more bricks needed to fall on his head. He spent most of his time after in a state of aggravation and pissed. She had the nerve to talk to him way exacerbated his disposition.

Things could get worse by the gesture of a hang-up, preventing him from responding to her accusation. He paused to collect his thoughts and realized this was a complete misunderstanding of epic proportions. Communication issue between her and Alicia to a great part was Jazz's immaturity.

It was his opinion the problem happened solely because of his loyalty to Alicia. He believed Jazz didn't understand the dynamics of his longtime relationship with Alicia. Geez, Louise, Alicia had her faults; everyone does; no one is perfect.

To suggest she had made up a story it bordered on ludicrous. Plus it's insulting to Gianni's intelligence Gianni, and Alicia went way back longer than his relationship with Jazz for sure.

What did she expect from him? Gianni never acknowledged the behavior and was in total denial Alicia did those things. He was sitting across the table from her and didn't see it for whatever reason. Did no one else figure out Alicia was a Psycho or was she the only one?

When he strode into Alicia's office with no formalities, he read her the riot act assisted in his foul mood by the unnerving conversation with her. He sounded harsher than he planned, but he had tried polite and got no response. Hurricane Gianni passed through his negative energy attached.

Alicia sat at her desk seeing everything through eyes of rage and anger. The last time Jazz caused problems between Alicia and Gianni. Things had continued to get worse while she stayed around Alicia's solution was to end the problem.

Women came and went during the years Alicia stayed with Gianni. The relationship with Jazz had been harder than others overall. Most women were a pain-in-her-ass. This one was serious a problem needed handling with quick, concise striking power stealth and ninja silence.

What if he called her again and Gianni found out Alicia manipulated things? It's over her goose is cooked it was time to bring in the big dogs.

"Can I speak to Arthur please Alicia Davidson here put me through, it's important." After a pleasant exchange of hellos with Arthur, she got ready for the business of destroying her enemy.

"Gianni is upset by the actions of this woman. It's unproductive. She's here to advance his schedule and smooth his path while on tour a direct result of this conference call."

"Alicia as embarrassing as I might find this to be for our firm, I can't act upon rumor I'll need to do a discreet investigation on our end."

"I'm sure Stan will need you to catch him up to speed, and it will be a bitter pill. Given she was one of his favorites, but enough is enough; I don't think you should drag your feet too long."

Alicia spun her web of deceit as she did so she glanced and sorted a stack of pictures. It was her job to create order out of confusion for Gianni. From women to scrapbooking she handled it with a flawless devotion.

After tossing aside a print, she noticed the next one. It was the focus of her loathing, the bitch Kelly. There she sat posing like a whore for Gianni who obviously held the camera. The girl looked young, and confident relaxed was nearly at change. Through her anger, Alicia saw they were stunning shots. Her rage and jealousy were boiling. Gianni captured the inner and outer beauty, of her nemesis. She realized Arthur tried to avoid discussing the legal ramification they had about labor laws.

It made her more determined than ever to defeat Jazz Alicia pressed on heartless. "Arthur, excuse me I don't mean to interrupt, but I'm busy. Here is the bottom line on this. The girl added to the chaos she blew up with him on the phone. I could be wrong. I'm sure much of her nastiness has to do with the break-up of their affair."

First, she paused for dramatic effect than when the silence peaked. She hit it dead on the money. Arthur mistook the pause for a silent invitation to speak. He talked and got cut off in mid-sentence from an adamant Alicia.

"I know your job requires you to keep your hand in everything going on in your firm. Bravo on your success I hope you don't think I'm rude because I have the deepest respect for your work. But I can't pretend to understand this relationship you people have with this girl."

"Now, come on Alicia, we know nothing is going on between them."

"It's beyond me what her role is, but someone had to have instructed her to include Gianni's overnight needs. Who cares if she sleeps with your talent? If it keeps him happy, I guess it's none of my business."

"Alicia I can't believe this, not I question your integrity in the least. I can't match up what you're saying, to the behavior, Jazz."

"I know Arthur, and you can imagine how stunned I felt waiting at the hotel to pick up work." She settled in and spun the tale as it unfolded not a difficult story to invent.

"Two of the maids were laughing over the whole mess leaving in a cocktail dress hair askew; make-up smeared, Arthur, she had on a cocktail dress."

While she waited for Arthur, to say something Alicia got the satisfaction she craved by stunning him with candor. "For God sakes Arthur, she could have at least combed her hair. Put on lipstick or something she represents your business even at seven in the morning." The last picture on the stack another one arms around one another. They must have asked someone to take a shot. When blood pressure soared up to a dangerous level and Alicia's neck got hot. She knew it meant a rage was starting and, she was helpless to control the cycle.

Once it took hold, she began to spin Alicia knew enough to recognize this call was over and done. "Every organization needs a girl who has her personality profile, Arthur. I get it she makes the writers happy and productive. Both of us know she acts no different than many young women do these days. Not always able to separate business from pleasure."

Alicia let the information sink into Arthur's subconscious while her hands trembled. This was a sure sign she didn't have long before Alicia blew her composure. The smooth facade, she preserved, cracked. Alicia had to rush through the final verbal onslaught. "Your business shouldn't suffer Arthur allow her to learn life on someone else's dime. Do you know what she did? When Gianni called to work out tour details."

She was having a difficult time maintaining a calm demeanor. Her plan was to sound professional while voicing concern to a peer. But her hearing had become distorted, and she was having trouble hearing the responses. Her thoughts became muddled, and it was difficult to concentrate. She faltered, in her speech which put her into a panic.

It caused a surge of adrenaline which thwarted any realistic chance of relaxing. She continued with her monolog furious but determined to get her entire position stated. As an astonished Arthur Kivingston's sat at his desk listening, he wondered what he should do. Either the ranting of a lunatic or the truth fraternization, as everyone knew in the firm, ran contrary to the rules.

She presumed the silence on Arthur's end signified his surprise at the news, she talked and talked. "Gianni called her when he got to town three times to iron out small key points. The sweet girl is oblivious to the pressure associated with working out a tour."

"I see Alicia."

"She's a cute girl but not tough enough for this business." Alicia concentrated her efforts into attaining a passive but succinct well-modulated tone. "The problem is she buckles when the pressure is on, Arthur." There was a buzz began as a quiet hum, and now it was reaching the volume of a locomotive steam, whistle time to end this right now.

"How you want to handle this Arthur is your business but, I thought you should know. Whatever you do, we'll roll with but keep us out of it." This thing couldn't blow up, and her get showered with the shit fall out.

Because of weird chance conversation between Gianni and Arthur then suddenly, her cover is blown. How could she thrust into her enemy's jugular if happened, thinking, on her feet she continued?

"He has no intention of working with Ms. Kelly again now I can't swear it to be true, but it's a deal breaker. I'm making an educated guess based on my understanding of Gianni. Worst-case scenario, the bottom line we keep this off the record," Alicia purred.

"The problem will get resolved by this afternoon. I can guarantee you, Alicia. There is no reason to let this get crazy it's a simple fix." Touchdown Alicia manipulated Arthur. Right into the place she wanted.

"Thanks, Arthur, I knew if I explained I could count on, B&K making the correct choices. I'm sure the problem, will disappear with discretion."

There was a sense of calm enveloped Alicia the whistle receded into the foreground, she even stopped perspiring. The room grew quiet once again peace descended on her. Alicia once again in charge of her universe and she loved.

It worked; she won in a conciliatory gesture she added. "You know Arthur the last thing Gianni wants is to do your job with employee relation problem. We'd prefer not to discuss it ever again can understand?"

"It goes without saying; everything needs to be handled with discretion if possible Alicia." She hung up and reflected how good it was to be back in the game. Now the waiting game of Arthur delivering her parting gift to bitch tied up in a bright red bow began.

The gift guaranteed to fire her from B&K. She had to be booted right out on her cute little fanny. Gianni wanted more access to Jazz Kelly it couldn't happen enough is enough. Sayonara you are, out of here.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Putting on a fresh coat of lipstick Liz jumped when her intercom went off and Arthur, barked for her to come to his office immediately. She rushed across the hall and listened as his words slashed at Liz's trained ear. "Liz I want you to come in here and take a memo."

"Mr. Kivingston's, Jazz, is such a hard worker; none of this behavior sounds familiar. It's not representational of Jazz." Elizabeth rallied to her defense with respect.

"I thought you'd prefer to keep your job."

The message of Jazz Kelly swept across the office gossip mill like a shock wave. She had become persona non-gratis at B&K. There was to be no further discussion, warranted by the issue.

Jazz cleaned out her desk, still numb with shock there'd be no more promotions coming her way. How could she pay the rent gas, electricity, and food, plus medical care for her and the baby? How could she survive? Poor job performance my pure ass malice more like it. She was through with Gianni and his little minion who piled this bullshit on her. Her meager office belongings got shoved into a cardboard box as she questioned herself and her intelligence.

What else could she think? Coincidence she got fired two hours after speaking her mind with Gianni. Should she believe it's a coincidence, maybe, but improbable? He was such a bastard she knew he had done it. Sure as she sat there if not him then who.

She could guess it was his enforcer Alicia; this charade appeared to be covered in her handprints. Jazz was a survivor and a road warrior of epic proportions her life couldn't have come this far. Without using the instincts of an alley cat everything until now, she had gotten on her own.

If she were a weakling, she wouldn't have survived the night in the dumpster at the bus terminal. Without, the infamous womanizer Gianni, creating chaos in her simple life. Thinking of the money she wasted; the credit card debt she now carried on her back. There is the awful payment she made every month. To the condo board, the first thing had to go.

She did quick math, and it told her once she sold the condominium there was enough left to pay off her mortgage. The balance on her credit cards once completed she'd have had over ten thousand. Plus the little nest egg left in her trust.

Her money would have to last so she never used it until now; she might access it early. Maybe not, but worth a try, "Thanks, Rose," If she were careful with the money, it couldn't last for the duration of her pregnancy. What to do afterward, became the big question?

She could save the world in a year if from time to prepare she had no choice. Determined she picked the box from her desk and walked out of Barney & Kivingston. Jazz walked out head held high despite the pitying glances, of her co-workers.

If they knew, she felt an every bit the scared, pregnant and single twenty-seven-year-old. Surprised Liz didn't drop, by her office, to wish her well or to say goodbye. But Jazz knew the bottom line was she had to stay loyal to the firm.

Liz stayed current with what happened she was watching on the security monitors and watched her leave the building. She knew why Jazz got fired the real reason not the rumor. Alicia had been behind it, and one-day crazy karma was heading her way. Maybe not today but soon her day was coming.

Elizabeth watched her prodigy leave and remembered her high-paying job could end with no ceremony. Liz knew there was a survivor streak, under the ladylike exterior. She had tried to warn her mixing with the talent always ended in getting the crappy end of the stick. But the girl didn't listen now she had no one but herself to blame.

"Good luck kiddo" Liz went back to work without another thought for Jazz Who? Liz had her survival streak.

She spent the first weeks taking care of routine business, Jazz applied for unemployment. Her heart rejoiced when it came back approved once received the award letter and sat for hours dead to the world. Out her front window, the new day unfolded. She knew survival was always possible and in the interim, she couldn't go stir crazy. There was more to life than television and snacking on cookies; it got old. One day, she woke with itchy feet.

She had organized the drawers and every closet around the house, and it took effort. Once she read the paper, her attention was drawn to the classified section. She had little confidence in a positive outcome.

Her practical side knew this would be a lackadaisical effort in futility, something to fill time, nothing serious. She realized as she perused the job listings. Her timing and physical condition could be construed as negative. Pregnant qualified as a big strike against her and every woman in the workplace. She had hoped looking for a job might lift her spirits, but the effort failed. The reaction was the opposite her spirits plummeted, and reality hit she slumped when the ton of bricks hit. No one wanted to hire a pregnant woman.

Feeling isolated, and alone, Jazz often wondered what her friends from B&K were doing. They had fallen off the face of the earth. So much for the friendship, she should have expected it. Liz attempted to prove she still cared in her way. She booked lunch then canceled three times it gave Jazz the needed bang of reality.

She got knocked off her pedestal for sure, but she had not quit the game. Besides, she always could depend on dear, sweet Phillip. He came around once or twice a week with fabulous desserts to encourage and pamper her. His ability to serve up witty conversations designed to amuse and entertaining her helped to wipe out negative thoughts.

Given the miserable state of her existence, it shouldn't surprise her. He was so kind spending hours of his time giving her pep talks. It showed he was a real friend she had not returned the favor. Jazz knew she had to tell Phillip the truth weird and awkward though it may appear. But she had to do it for her soul and sense of fairness.

Saturday night Phillip brought over pizza and a six-pack of her favorite beer. Halfway through the movie, they were watching he showed concern for her health since she didn't touch the beer. He expressed concern a relapse. The timing wouldn't get any better, so Jazz shared the news. After, she had treated him so disrespectfully what did she expect he wouldn't set himself up to rip his heart out again. What made her think he wanted a friend who treated him with such unimportance?

From his perspective, she cheated on him and lied then she ended up pregnant with the guy who she cheated with such trailer park behavior. It's not cool she behaved with no concern for his feelings she dropped the ball with her integrity. Things happened for the best; she had to let it go. She missed those delicacies on her budget; there was no treating herself.

The irony of ending up right back to square one didn't get lost on her. Such a shame her two favorite DJ's had moved on to a new market. Maybe she should move to wherever they went. Lightning strikes twice sometimes. Tired of hiding as if she were a wounded dog she wanted open spaces.

Meanwhile, she daydreamed of a Latte heavy with caffeine, and real scalded cream. She sipped tepid herb tea and devised a plan for survival. Resigned to her next dream job and the Latte both being seven more months away. For now, it was unemployment and herb tea. She stifled a yawn as she flipped to the travel section with nothing else to entertain her. Bored beyond belief, the weekend getaway spread caught her attention immediate. There she saw a full-page color photograph of the Central Coast. There was a familiarity with the picture her soul connected with the pristine nature shot.

The ocean represented growing up in her fantasies; she lived on the beach. She felt at peace with the sound of the surf pounding in her ears. For Jazz, no more childhood fantasies of Prince Charming entered her head. He wouldn't ride up on his white steed and save her.

She didn't know if she was prepared to live in an isolated place, but in the hope, a drive might do her good. Her plan unfolded since the car disappeared with her employment contract, she opted to rent one. The lack of transportation was a minor glitch in the relocation to a rural area.

So one thing she'd need to check out was a reasonable car. By eleven morning, she got on the road, and by afternoon she was driving along the coast. Her mind preoccupied with the fun she was planning to have at the beach. The whole day was a terrific solo date she stopped at various roadside antique stores and fruit stands.

Her spirit was light something to be said for the sense of freedom as she drove until a potty break. Her quick reactions allowed her to exit the Cayucos Drive exit on impulse. It was a case of love at first site. Within minutes, she formed an exit strategy for and determined she was moving to this mecca of beach living.

Her move would be easy there was little she needed and preferred to travel lite, into a new life. It worked once before there was no plan, but it could get done. Her only concern was the actual move itself. The unique little town called her name as she drove back to the city. Half way home she planned her escape. She went into whirlwind mode once she was back it helped her manage her sadness. As she went through the next month things came together. She was fortunate a bidding war broke out on her condominium and made a profit. Better than she hoped and her joy spilled over to leave the past in her rearview mirror.

The week of her final preparations for departure went by in a blur. She had a gigantic yard sale then it came time to cut off the electricity, cancel the newspaper, and tell the cable company. After she had bought a used VW Bug, she packed the boxes and suitcases full of her things on the roof rack. Dear, sweet, Stella sent a few dishwashers over to clean the condo. They attached the frame to her car, and then together they loaded the balance of her stuff. When she drove him to the restaurant, Stella came out to say goodbye. Her friend made sure she loaded with food for the trip.

Her final hug included a reminder to keep in touch with tears included. Jazz appreciated the thought; she and Stella had forged a friendship after their first meeting. She was well meaning, but it wouldn't happen, no one ever kept touch. There was no point in moving backward it got you nowhere and turned you into a pillar of salt.

Each time she got knocked for a loop a voice urged her to get back up and fight. It was a reminder to her she wasn't out for the count if she never quit her star could continue to rise. She was a winner, and she'd make it happen again. Jazz waved goodbye to the city by the bay she called home she drove over the bridge and into her future

WELCOME TO CAYUCOS CALIFORNIA Where the Old West Meets The Ocean. Cayucos was a safe place to raise her unborn child. Jazz knew her priorities were getting the baby issues under control. Work on her inner peace and joy regardless of the outcome.

This restructuring allowed Jazz to be content and happy she let go when she realized it wasn't working for her anymore. She couldn't get knotted up over details; she needed to stay loose. There was no way her control freak was going to raise this kid. Determined to relax and go with the flow so her child grew up healthy. Pleasant memories were the start of moving in the right direction.

The first few weeks in Cayucos were less than stellar it was lousy luck stayed with her like a shadow. Alone and isolated she was fearful of the future she booked herself into the Cypress Tree Motel. Ironic that she was assigned to room number eight the Romance Room. The humor wasn't lost on Jazz even in her current depressed state.

An old cypress tree grew in the courtyard. It was graceful and regal and knew had seen plenty of dramas. It had given shelter to the building and residents. The tree became the first touchstone of this town her, new home. She hadn't realized how difficult this would be when she created this strategy. Affordable housing might be difficult to all the houses she looked at had enormous rents. Every place she toured the rent fell far on the other side of her budget.

The owners of the motel Sid his wife Patrice and their crew of dogs were the first Cayucos locals who adopted her into their lives. They hooked her up with the most popular OB/GYN in town Dr. Clancy. When she went to the first appointment expecting prenatal care; what she received in actuality a guardian angel in a medical coat.

The doctor took charge she was no longer alone in this pregnancy giving Jazz assurance she was as close as a phone call for friendship, comfort or solace. After the exam, she threw her arm around Jazz's shoulders and snapped the file shut. Dr. Clancy, the professional within minutes, became an indispensable friend and mentor.

She gave Jazz a huge, warm smile then launched into the personal data mining with a take no prisoner's determination. "Jazz we have gathered your medical history and personal information enough to give you a diagnosis. It's my professional opinion what you need is a good cry on a stiff shoulder. You need to make your pregnancy more enjoyable, you know that is possible."

Later she always thought of those first moments in Clancy's office as nourishment to her empty soul. It was the first bit of energy intended to refill her spirit, and they did. Surprised by the intensity of her cathartic tears afterward, she felt better the Doctor was right.

She handed Jazz a box of Kleenex with a compassionate smile it was inclusive and open. Clancy invited her home until she could locate a place of her own. Jazz at first felt overwhelmed by the generosity of this total stranger.

But the blessings didn't stop there she worked with the Chamber of Commerce. Clancy got her the apartment she moved her future was starting, which was a huge relief. When she pulled up to the wacky building was now home she gasped.

Her doubts were nagging but pushing them aside she focused instead on the needs of her baby who needed a home. While the place wasn't perfect the emotional need to have a home was overwhelming. Once she got the keys, Jazz excitedly began the process of creating a nest in her first family home.

This is where she could bring her baby home and start life the townhouse was big and roomy. It had both an upper and lower balcony. One of fourteen dwellings within the compound which used to be a large auto repair garage, and it sat on the bluff overlooked the Pacific. The view was both incredible and spiritual.

The apartments varied in size, style, and price each unit had a unique charm. Musicians, artists, and various residential eccentrics shared space. The building sat high atop a cliff it boasted panoramic views of the surrounding magnificence of the Pacific.

It was a massive glass building held up by steel beams. The original piece of the house left with a wall broke up what once served as a single enormous room. Her rent sounded reasonable which made survival possible.

As Jazz moved in her meager belongings, she soaked in the atmosphere. Funky and unique it was similar in style. To the first apartment, she rented when she arrived in San Francisco. The biggest change between the two locations was the view and space. Her first apartment was a shoebox this place felt roomy.

Sure she missed the condo and her old life as she struggled to get the move in done. Her pregnancy put a crimp in her speed on the third trip to the car; disaster struck. She could hear him before she saw him. It was hard to miss a whiskey voice bellowing out. "You have a piece of toilet paper hanging out of your pants."

Jazz looked around to locate the voice hurtling the crude remarks in her direction. Jazz couldn't figure out where it was coming from so she twisted her upper torso. She lost her balance she dropped everything after the clattering of baby items stopped a voice babbled in the background.

It's ranked as the most dramatic voice Jazz ever heard the voice trained in a full range of emotion and delivery. It had the timber and volume of a Shakespearean actor his inflection was tinged with drama not a voice for the faint of heart by any means. The voice bellowed from behind her, or above her, or from somewhere. She didn't figure out from where it came from before she lost her balance.

"Oh, my Dear God, what did I do? Poor thing, I'm so sorry to let me pick this up and help." The forty-something male fell flat on his face unconscious.

She reacted the only way a girl could laugh so hard she couldn't stop. Jazz knew this to be standard operating procedure for her life. Inappropriate laughter had been an issue for her entire life to date. Now she had a problem it was not yet mid-morning, and this guy was dead drunk.

Man, he stunk given the delicate state of her stomach. It was shocking to her he was still breathing. His skin infused, with the smell of old stale liquor, it was gross. She eyed him with caution and deliberated her options. After she poked him with her toe to make sure he moved to show her he was alive. The stranger groaned showing his vitals still worked thank God. This was getting worse by the minute oh, sure, he didn't die, but he might have. Afraid the man might get angry or worse, she didn't want to deal with him if he became aggressive. Hesitant to wake for a reason plus it requires she get near him. Her stomach was in rebellion.

Experience taught her the projectile vomiting never turned out pleasant. The only way to avoid being exposed to the smells is if she left the man alone. But, it created a problem moving her stuff upstairs. She let sleeping dogs lie so to speak. Her path had to circumvent the obstacle in her path. The poor guy had nothing going poor thing what appeared the remains of a black shirt and the jacket had both seen better days covered his emaciated torso.

She hoped he lived in the compound otherwise he'd have a miserable walk home. Could he be a vagrant who stumbled up from the beach? The rank body odor and stale liquor mixed with old cigarettes radiated off him. She held her breath; it helped but didn't fix the problem.

After two more trips, she had to take a break her lungs were a hurting unit. Pregnancy Jazz learned was not for wimps. She paused before starting for the stairs taking in the entire vista. Happy and content to stay quiet and rub her belly. The realization she was once again alone for the last time.

In a few more months, she'd never be alone again. Her baby would be her family they were a small family. But no one could ever keep them apart she'd guard her child with whatever it took. Passing thoughts of Gianni entered her mind man turned the keys to her locks. She forgot the miscreant who lay on the sidewalk. Her mind tried to block out thoughts of the homeless man. Instead, she focused on more pleasant areas of reflection, for instance, the baby and Gianni. Ever the idealist, she wished Gianni found out about her pregnancy and begged her forgiveness. Then he'd beg her to give him the honor of becoming his wife, he'd ask?

She would play it coy and tell him to let her think about it, and she'd give an answer later. Her romantic fantasy of which there was no basis, in reality, preoccupied, her thoughts she reacted with surprise when her squatter spoke.

His voice sounded raucous, and even a tad confused. "Where the hell we and who in the hell are you."

"You're on the steps leading up to my apartment. Which I'm assuming, is near your apartment. For the past hour, I have had to move into my apartment around your dead drunk, stinking corpse. I'm not happy working around your blackout."

She was reacting from a place of stunned shock, she didn't realize anyone could get so intoxicated, they forgot what happened. She had heard of blackouts but thought people used them as a way to ignore their regretful behavior.

"Oh, come now, something caused my demise; people falling out of the sky does not happen. It appeared based on the looks of this mess of yours. I stumbled over your belongings, stop being a slob and public nuisance. This is a well-traveled walkway."

The man attempted to straighten up his clothes "I'm sure the owners are not going to appreciate your efforts. What with the high cost of liability insurance and such do you mind sharing with me how I ended up on the ground?"

"You don't remember?"

"I hope it wasn't due to your negligence. Do you have a cup of coffee?"

"Oh, I see, now you want coffee well I have none coffee."

"Well, this is a sad state of affairs you have a real chip on your shoulder does anyone else ever notice your personality glitch? What did I do to call for the tone you're using on me?"

She held up her fingers itemizing the stranger's screw-ups, "You hurled crude remarks caused me to trip I fell. I dropped everything I had in my hands."

"Maybe you shouldn't leave this stuff lying around it's a death trap."

"Oh yes, I did it on purpose to set a trap for unsuspecting drunks whose bones I can watch shatter and break. Now is making things clearer and more succinct?"

"Has anyone ever told you you're not a nice person, I'm asking."

"Yes, as a matter of fact, Doug Woods told me the same thing when I was sixteen. It didn't bother me then, and it doesn't bother me now. You passed out on the walkway poison my unborn child with nicotine."

"Aren't you the drama queen?"

"At least I'm not a stinky pig."

"I'm not feeling any positive energy from you, and FYI when someone harasses me and makes uncivil comments towards me, it hurts."

"I don't care you're a whack job or a card-carrying alcoholic."

"Yeah, me a nut job lacking the balls to commit suicide so, I drink myself to death."

"Because, you're too chicken shit to pull the trigger, give me a gun I'll do it for you."

"I lost it okay I have problems now leave me alone and let me die in peace. Girl, you have a vicious, mean streak."

"I'm telling the truth if I recall you're a huge fan of facts, so enjoy." She brushed her hands together as if to wash her hands of this nut.

The man, at least, had the decency to look contrite appeased her for a moment. His voice rose to the level of shrillness unknown by man. "This is a blatant exaggeration; I don't think you can shoot me."

"Mister please go away."

"Back at you lady, I'd appreciate it if you showed sensitivity. I've had a rough six months, and I'm under a doctor's care because of my fragile condition. My name is Patrick you'd do well to remember in our future interactions. Which I doubt will happen with your snotty childlike posturing."

"Mister, you take the freaking cake. What an incredible talent you have to retell a series of events to suit your needs of reality."

"I believe I may have been unconscious after the fall. It's possible Diva I have received a severe head injury. Meanwhile, it's been minutes, not the hours you so want to claim. Right, my little Diva?"

From underneath his heavy eyelids, he stared shaking his head with mock disappointment. "Okay, fair enough, you got me there, but at least we can agree on twenty minutes, mister?"

She bent over to pick up a package of baby socks and lost her footing on the gravel. To prevent a face-plant, by placing both palms flat on the ground it saved her ass. After a second or two, she felt steady again and paused unsure how to regain her balance. From the awkward position she now found herself in because of this man.

The miscreant admitted, with graciousness, he helped her balance to the center of her gravity. "Holy crap little mama you gotta be careful packing on the pounds. Let me say this I'm an emotional and physical wreck right now I'll tell you, girl. My nap has moved into the must have category and no longer sit in it's a nice option."

This odd little man with his bowed shoulders and squinting eyes looked like a Hobbit. He continued chatting comfortable in each other's presence, "Diva I'm thrilled to know you're having a baby. It makes more sense now I'm aware of the basis and relieved your disproportionate weight issues. I'm reassured we can attribute it to something reasonable and temporary."

He sneezed and dug in his pocket for a handkerchief. Not finding one he wiped his nose with his shirt sleeve. Horrified with this crazy man as he continued talking he appeared intelligent and non-violent. He might be a nice guy, but he struck her as a little weird.

"I mean you're off center can we say is it a boy, girl or a surprise? I'm wild for surprises you know; it's not my job to tell you what to do. But my advice is you should be more careful if not you'll hurt yourself."

Aside from his scarecrow looks and his mincing Norma Desmond walks the man could be a decent person. Or he could be an ax murderer, regardless she preferred to avoid contact. "From eight o'clock this morning I've watched you move and noticed the exercise couldn't hurt. But, when I noticed you had chunky monkey syndrome happening." He indicated the middle of his own body as if giving a visual clue. No diagram is needed to know how she looked at this point.

"You have it going on around the middle their darling you don't look precious. With or without your spare tire, you're adorable I admit I'm relieved to know there's a good looking neighbor under the maternity wear."

Patrick had reached out before she knew what had happened. He pinched her cheek and made her think of a hated old aunt. His obtuse manner violated the conventional one square foot of personal space rule. He leaned right into her; nose to nose for her it was unsettling.

"Diva lets me tell you those couple pounds you put on with such glee, honey; those are the toughest ones to remove." The nutty neighbor sniffed the air reacting to his hygiene issues. "Oh, wow, Diva somebody needs a shower."

Nodding in agreement Jazz spoke "I'd agree with your hygiene diagnosis. You're beyond ripe; I encourage you in your efforts to shower. I'm assuming most of your neighbors. If, not the whole town, I'm guessing."

Organizing for what she hoped to trip up the stairs. The staircase got longer and steeper with each trip. She paused as the neighbor sidled past her on his way to the promised shower.

"How did a girl with so much potential end up with a neighbor like you?"

"Sometimes dumb luck, anyhow welcome to Dramaville population me, Patrick Abbott is my complete given name." He shoved his hand out in her direction; instinct returned the gesture and got her hand crushed.

"My dear, little Diva, this chance meeting is your lucky break."

Given his poor showing during this first meeting, she reacted bemused to his arrogance, retorted back, "Lucky? Funny, is what you think, it's funny? Listen Mister screaming offensive remarks at me from the balcony."

"I didn't scream."

"Oh, shut up yes you did and, to have the unmitigated gall to call me lucky is bullshit. I'll have you know something buster. I'm the least lucky person because of my status as an unlucky person has not changed one iota. Thanks, for the validation."

Patrick held his head is rocking back and forth he dug around in his pockets. After a few minutes, he pulled out a crushed pack of cigarettes. The poor sap fumbled for what she assumed to be a lighter.

"Honey girl don't brag if I were you, I'd stay mum no one wants to share an umbrella in a lightning storm with someone who's not lucky. Now Diva, please stop talking because I have a hangover and I'm ill, I'm a sick man, please stop."

She questioned whether the problems with this guy were mental or social. He had delusions of grandeur and referred to himself as the Count of Cayucos. His arrogant pontificating suggested the later.

"Diva if I may add I find I ignore people when they talk. In a voice is bitchy or mean. For instance, if someone was to speak in the same tone, you used today. He'd get bitch slapped to death."

By now Patrick had turned pale as plaster and shook. She suspected a heart attack might be imminent. She had a smidgen of sympathy for this poor wretched, piece of humanity until he opened his mouth again.

"My instinct was to cut you slack in the mood swings arena since you're heavy with child. I think you've got the nerve to pull the civilized human behavior card, Diva. With your cantankerous self-indulgence, please spare me." Patrick found the lighter he had lost in his trouser pocket.

"Yuck, it's a disgusting habit and I'd appreciate it if, you and your second-hand smoke. Take your toxins and move far away. From my unborn child and me, thank you, I do not have a mood swing; I'm annoyed, and it's not Diva; my name is Jazz Kelly, and you'd do well to remember."

"Oh touché to you for one, there may be more here than meets the eye?"

She resisted, stomping her foot anger couldn't be good for the baby. Forcing herself to relax she responded in a measured tone. "So, listen up mister, if cheap talk is the trend pony up my friend. For the record, I'm, fluent in Bitch."

She whispered in a voice laced with cyanide in each syllable "your base humor telling toilet paper jokes was not funny, I didn't laugh."

"Diva I'm sorry, I thought we were building a relationship. Now I can see I'm wrong. Diva or Jazz or whatever it's, you enjoy pretending your name is as if it's your real name, sure girl. You share the same name as a dancer I know." Patrick put the cigarettes with the lighter back in his pocket.

He walked away as an afterthought he stopped. Turning and flexing his wrist. "Diva the toilet paper ah, yeah. Not intended to be a tacky remark it's the truth." He pointed to the four-inch strip of toilet paper. The paper was hanging out the back of her elastic waistband.

"Lord, I can't believe it." She wanted the earth open to swallow her. Jazz shuddered in humiliation. Not believing she had to live through a filthy reprobate had shamed her. She went running up the stairs trying to tear the offending paper out of her pants. No such luck.

Reeling from humiliation she jammed her key, into the lock, it resisted. Never again could she look a man in the face without dying of shame and embarrassment. At last, the door swung open, she ran in and allowed it to slam behind her able to remove the object of her ridicule.

How long had it hung from her waistband her own tail? She'd have to leave town after this she cried, Jazz threw in heaving sobs for good measure. Moving again was a huge nightmare, and she couldn't cope.

Horrible is how the thought struck her, but it had to be done. She couldn't stay here. Her thoughts went straight to the morning walk she enjoyed strolling through town. She used the toilet at the beach, no one had stared and pointed at her backside.

She left nothing out of her review of the timeline from the morning while trying to remember the last bathroom she used. She drew a blank did she even use a bathroom? No, the paper couldn't be hanging there for the world to see. It was too horrible to think it happened.

Patrick could hear her cries even with the shower running full force. It'd be her first lesson on the paper-thin walls. Clueless what to do and ashamed of his behavior Patrick's attempts during the next hour of atonement he was nothing but persistent.

He tried to coax her out of her locked apartment and begged her to let him check on her safety. "Hey girl, at least, open the door, you can hide. Go ahead; I'll grab the baby things and bring them up to the landing I promise." Patrick dropped to one knee to look through the keyhole. Unlike the old movies, he watched daily on the nostalgia television channel, the keyhole, was too small to learn a thing.

He crouched, lower and looked under the door. No, dice he'd see nothing carpet came up to the bottom of the door. His view obscured by the shag rug in the entry. Note to self: fix Diva's threshold or morning there'd be a pregnant Popsicle where once the Madonna with child lay.

"Hey, come on out be impressed, I took a shower I smell fresh. I even used expensive aftershave. I'm sober, and no one has seen in a while, so be the first. Come out, and look can it be verified as genuine and correct, to the best of your knowledge."

"I'll make dinner I have lobster, I'm a gourmet cook. Those pregnant taste buds will stand and yell thanks. Miss, ah-hang-on-let me think, it has something to do with music, unpredictable, contemporary. Oh yeah, Jazz I'm so, so sorry open the door, please."

Jazz was hiding in the far corner of the room responding with silence to his pleas. She listened to the pleas from her new neighbor but didn't let it penetrate her stone exterior. But the little imp of a man continued unabated.

Why couldn't he see she hated people to see her vulnerable? She liked to project the image of being as tough as anyone. So, she cultivated her persona of being a stone covered marshmallow.

This drunk hurt her feelings. Oh yeah, she wanted to see how horrible the behavior was until she realized it was a sincere effort to make amends. It told her, there might be a caring person. Nice to know it wasn't a habit humiliating pregnant women he wasn't malicious she learned. She gave him a ten for his persistence, she heard the magic word. For reasons she didn't understand, this stranger needed her forgiveness. She turned the knob as she unbolted the lock. The door opened which allowed the hapless stranger Patrick, entrance into her inner sanctum.

She reacted with girlish delight when he stuck his hand into the room waving his white silk ascot. What a card this guy was her heart fell hard for this gadabout she loved everything he represented for a girl depressed and alone. He was perfect and just what the doctor ordered. Amused his nose was a perfect match in color to her red, swollen eyes within fifteen, minutes as promised. Patrick returned with dinner ingredients she felt comforted by the now solicitous loving friend. Before she even was his Sous Chef, he insisted she take a long hot shower.

When he advised her to change into the biggest, warmest flannel nightgown she owned, it became an easy sell. Jazz settled onto the couch with her feet elevated. Her soul was content tearing lettuce into the bowl. The only job she could convince Patrick to let her do. He whipped up a fabulous lobster Alfredo. Once he had the pesto garlic bread done baking. Patrick escorted her to the little dining table. She laughed enjoying him old world manners, in reality, he was far from the loser from earlier in the day.

Her first impression wrong she knew he'd become a good friend. She never got over feeling lucky Patrick entered her life. Between the food he served and the joy she had watching a spectacular sunset, the evening rated a ten. She loved the way he blended the perfect host with his mother hen. He helped her find the peace she was searching for somewhere along the way as the evening unfolded.

For her part, she experienced her first, pregnancy epicurean experience; enjoying dinner this much should be a sin. She inhaled and exhaled long deep breaths finding peace, for a pregnant woman who had not received nurturing. The evening became pure bliss she convinced herself life could get no better than this moment. While they dined, Patrick regaled her with the life and times of Patrick Abbott.

Because, of the emotional pain, she endured in her short life; she was empathetic to his grief. Patrick found the art of listening to be a positive trait, and his new BFF was a darned faithful listener. He felt his sense of calm return releasing the pain of his loss.

Patrick had shared every detail of the life with Steven. The ending could on have an unhappy ending he and Steven had so much love for one another. Between them, each found in the other, what they felt most lacking in their life. After fifteen, years together, they split. Steven needed to discover who he was then and who he'd grow up to be.

Steven was always questioning where talent lay because as he told Patrick, "'s important." Their love remained intact though scarred. They stayed close both made a comfortable salary, and they lived apart.

With a business, they shared neither one of them saw any point in destroying their livelihood. Three years later they got together again. One month after their reconciliation; Steven got diagnosed HIV positive. Their relationship lasted another four years.

Patrick adored the man until he died six long months ago. Patrick had trouble re-engaging with life. She told Patrick the gory details of her millisecond affair with Gianni. When he left Patrick hugged her so tight she thought he might suffocate her. It felt warm and comforting to have someone care for her the person.

She found herself crushed in Patrick's paternal hug became a staple. "This felt cathartic how can you fix my other problems tomorrow?" She teased.

"'s a solid darling I'll start with breakfast not too early I'll have the coffee ready how does eight o'clock sound? Read the paper, talk baby talk and maybe pick out names I'll introduce the neighbors."

"I say yes I took time off to settle in and if tonight's example of your prowess as a chef is any sign. Count me in next time you want to channel Martha Stewart and cook. Everything has been so hectic between the move, a new job, and the baby. You can put a fork in me; I could sleep right now."

She and Patrick became inseparable friends over the next six months. He discovered a new purpose to his life. She felt loved and secure she felt protected. Patrick kept her amused during the long months of pregnancy.

He shared games, and animated conversations sprinkled throughout were anecdotal stories of Hollywood's rich and infamous. He did it to distract her, and it worked. His companionship provided comfort during the interminable wait for the baby arrival.

Patrick did not fall in love with Jazz, and they did she was so vulnerable and fragile. They devised a schedule of sorts put with love by her kooky neighbors. No wanting to a slip of a girl to be alone what a relief not to have to worry.

Cass, who served as the unofficial house mother and owner of the compound, posted the schedule. It stayed in effect throughout Jazz's entire pregnancy. Someone was with her during every minute of the day because Cass's dictates carried weight.

They babysat, and it was comforting and loving which gave her great relief. Secure in the knowledge she had nothing to worry the fears of loneliness had vanished. Her concerns became paring the guest list in the delivery room.

Patrick made most of their meals when she hosted, her method, was to order in delivery. He always took the late night shift he stopped drinking, so he'd be sober when the time came. Because, as Clancy pointed out, so he did her no good if he was falling drunk.

Nighttime was a difficult period for both to get through they spent nights together. They spent hours talking and often slept on the oversized sectional couch together. They claimed it as their favorite spot in the universe.

Watching films noir on the nostalgia channel and eating. It kept him from giving in to the urge to drink or smoke and kept her from crying and stressing out. Patrick committed to the whole sobriety thing, but he still considered himself a works in progress.

There were days he felt exalted and days were hard. He worked his program daily. Sometimes it ended up minute by minute to sound less congested and short of breath than before he met Jazz. Their friendship started the relationship was positive for both. It was difficult, to sleep by the ninth month of her pregnancy. Patrick there late at night was crucial they played cards and danced. Sometimes, they sat through a silent film marathon a mutual passion.
Chapter Fifteen

On a beautiful Wednesday night the patio slider open allowing the ocean breeze to blow in, cooling a pregnant, cranky Diva. The mysterious Santa Ana winds were legendary in Southern California. When they blew people went not Patrick, he loved them.

He had his hands full distracting her from the discomfort on this particular evening. He gave the best foot massage, and they watched classic silent films. His big treat was adding extra butter and salt to the popcorn.

He announced the topic for this evening's game when he pulled out of the bowl of topics. It was the coffee table centerpiece he made for Christmas, and she loved the concept. Tonight's they were playing one of their favorites The What If Game?

"Can a house be decorated with a total budget of one million dollars? Part B, What work involved in designing a house or a room. You could do it if you lived in a million-dollar dream house."

He used his game show host voice to read the question keeping track of the estimated cost of her rambling wish list. While she talked, he sketched out her ideas on a drawing pad.

"Okay, honey, so half of your budget is gone. Now you have to get creative. What else you know what we should do this for real. I believe you have a God-given sense of design. I have Steven's clients in his Rolodex."

Patrick hopped onto the couch kneeling with his head cocked to the side and an impish grin decorating his face. He put his hands on her shoulders and forced her to look him right in the eyes so she'd know he meant business.

"I have done nothing with them; I'm a layout detail designer, not a business person. We could do something with those contacts." His idea took shape Patrick thought the odds were in their favor this could work.

"Now we'd be perfect. Lord knows you look brand worthy in print open your mouth the image is still there. Except for your filthy language, clean up other than you're remarkable."

Patrick's voice changed he became parental in tone, encouraging a child. He had her chin in his hand, forcing eye contact. "Come on I mean it; you are a total class act except for the eye roll. In the design, world class and style are the keys much more than looks. You have both qualities my dear will make you a star."

Patrick flung himself straight back. He reached distracted for a banana in the fruit bowl he kept stocked for Jazz. Otherwise, she hadn't eaten fruit. Patrick peeled the banana as the whole brilliant idea came to fruition.

"I'll do the technical design work and stay on the perimeter where I'm happy. With your on-camera personality, you could be the front woman. Charm the shit out of these wealthy clients, the rich ones with a vacation home on the coast. Diva how come we can't give it a go, partner?"

He feigned boredom, eating his banana a man without a care. "I have always had this idea for a brilliant design show. Now, with cable access television available let's do it."

"Patrick what makes you so sure I have the talent to decorate people's houses. When it comes to design or textiles, I know less than nothing. Besides me running a business and raising a child is ridiculous I have never thought of how to produce a television show. My degree is in public relations I'm playing the 'what if' game; I didn't realize you got serious."

She sipped her tea but couldn't get comfortable. No position helped, but she kept trying making a mental note of the sudden silence. Patrick's refusal to acknowledge her had the desired effect she cracked. "For goodness sake Patrick I'm not qualified as an interior decorator."

"There is nothing to it your instincts understand design, even if you're a complete novice. Listen, I can do the stuff it only takes a little skill and did I mention my degree is in graphic design? The layout, the sample boards, and everything else I promise."

He dismissed her objections with his flip of the wrist, "Look around your apartment the first word comes to mind is adorable. You did this with nothing, but roadside finds. Several dumpsters dive retrievals and a bunch of hand-me-downs."

Patrick tossed the banana peel into the trash grabbed a baby wipe and cleaned his hands. Everybody who or his hands because everyone knew he had germ buggy-boo. "Heavens what could happen with money, honey? Manipulate the rich and famous what's the worst could happen."

"While balancing a plate on our head Patrick? Are we presuming them and their lack of good taste translated into weakness?"

"Oh, Jazz I can see it now at the book club the ladies will talk it up with your latest instruction on design."

"I have a question um Patrick how are they going to know who needs a designer?"

"We'll show her how step by step. You'll detail the room and recommend products and timeline how many weekends or something."

"I see we take my style, and give it a name, something catchy."

"It'll be easy we can design a new lifestyle choice. Jazz we'll sell it as a new atmosphere, and a way of life for the modern family."

"You still haven't answered my question how."

"Okay, here is the kicker. Neighbors take the design and decorate their friends' room brilliant isn't it."

"Patrick you have gone mad. Who is going to let their neighbors do to their house?"

He snapped his fingers and continued to have the evolving conversation in his head. Jazz had no intention of being a part of his nonsensical rant. "I'm so smart I've got it figured out, how's this? Here goes, Beach Funk a state of mind. Oh, my I'm a brilliant idea man. I guess the old man still has his hand in the game."

During Patrick's enthusiastic pitch, he covered the room crisscrossing and creating. He once again fell into his game design ideas came at him in a tidal wave of creativity. His mouth was rushing to keep up with the flood of genius bottled up in him.

She saw a man who came back from the dead. He even infused her with enthusiasm. For a brief flicker, he once again became the one, the only, the talented Patrick Abbott. As tired as she felt, Jazz found his energy contagious. When Patrick put it in those terms, how could she not try it?

"I'll send a letter to Steven's clients introducing them. To the new, hot design firm I now do client services on the coast." By now Patrick booted up the computer he had given her. Now he used it to organize the first of many lists. He tapped away at the keyboard and speaking non-stop with no pauses like a fast moving river of words.

"They know me and the work I have done. There will be no proving our track record thing." He swiveled in his chair facing her and slapped both palms against his knees. To show the one-sided discussion was over in his mind, a decision made.

"Eight weeks off after the baby if we fail, well, you go back to work for the Chamber. The girls couldn't possibly have a problem with a rehire. We know how well you sell memberships. No one but you could have come up with the buy a piece of the beach campaign, but you."

Not satisfied with the banana snack he leaned forward to grab a handful of candy mixture. One night they had the snack bug running through them. Is the night she turned him on to this excellent meal. He licked his fingers and then continued.

"I gotta say he might be a shithead of a human, but Gianni knows his snacks. The best shit I have ever eaten. As I was saying I'll go back to freelancing in graphic design; end of story."

"Man, Patrick it overwhelms me to think of the work involved how would I manage with a baby?"

"I'll hang out and care for the baby I may enjoy becoming a kept man. We can run the business right out of here." She experienced doubt, assaulting her from every lobe of her brain. "Patrick I'd be afraid I couldn't pay my bills I can't get my inheritance for another eighteen months."

"No worries I have money put away I can cover the bills for a year. If it gets too rough, we can combine our households into one apartment. I'm here with nowhere to go for the day."

"How can we do it Patrick I can't imagine how we to get clients? Hell, I don't even know how to plan a design project."

"Jazz I can handle running a business from the administrative end it requires two things. Both right in this room brains and bullshit you and me and tons of glamor in between our brand."

"Come, on Patrick, we have nothing to start a business with my inheritance is three years away so I can't even use the money."

"Jazz we have a phone, computer, and dial up to the World Wide Web, plus always the U. S. Postal Service. Presto, chango we got a business, it's easy Diva girl. We don't need your damn inheritance we've got you as a secret weapon." She crossed over to the sliding glass door during this final sales pitch.

"I've never run a business never mind one on this internet I'm don't understand the whole thing. Is there a real store on this World Wide Web thing where is the showroom? This is stressing me out fresh air is what I need. I'll be right back."

"You're making it too complicated Diva leaves it to let it go I got this thing handled." She lumbered out onto Patrick's patio. He didn't react with too much concern she was out on the patio ten feet away.

Soon he discovered how wrong his assumption could be. When Patrick glanced, out the sliding door, he saw her bent at the waist in pain.

"Honey is everything alright? Oh, the girl is the night we get to have a birthday party. Is it going to happen? I'm so excited at becoming the Godfather. Do you know by chance what a Godfather does? Oh well, who cares it's a great reason to throw a party."

She knew something must look bad given the look of horror on Patrick's face. "I'm going to have the baby."

"Oh, dear is this for sure?" a gush of water fell to the floor.

"What a mess girl can I be honest and say this is a big puddle, honey. I guess this means the baby is coming for sure."

"Yeah, I'm sure Patrick sorry look at this mess."

"Sweetie the mess is the least of our problems my brain is empty I'm here to help but have no idea what to do?"

"Patrick let's start with Cass and Clancy and improve from there get me to the couch."

"Stay calm, and easy does it as we say, at my meetings, we have a baby plan. This should go like clockwork, so let's be organized. Let's practice breathing Lord knows I could use a few breaths myself."

Patrick sprang out of the house like he was being shot out of a cannon. Patrick alerted each neighbor of the impending deli. He pounded on each door giving a stellar performance in the role of town crier announcing the birth of a new princess.

It looked a slapstick comedy outside her apartment. Sure enough, within minutes, the living room filled with her extended family. Confusion reigned with Patrick in the middle he played the role Ringmaster of Chaos with consummate feeling and enthusiasm.

Someone other than Patrick had the sense to place the call to Dr. Clancy. Once she arrived the good doctor whirled into action and took immediate control of the pandemonium. Jazz was a Frisbee in free fall until Clancy arrived than she relaxed. Together they timed the contractions before she even spoke.

"Okay, let's get our surroundings peaceful and Zen. Cass, please play music to relax with, the current choice sounds as if we were ready to Salsa dance."

Clancy's hands were cool, and Jazz appreciated the touch, it relaxed her enough to stave off panic.

"Listen to Jazz everything will fine. You trust me."

"I believe you Clancy, but I'm little scared this will hurt."

"Yes, we need to do what we can to keep you comfortable. I estimate another hour before we can leave for the hospital. Until then the more you relax, the faster we can make this happen. Okay? Now listen up people we are giving birth here not a party. Everybody who's not involved in the birthing needs to go home Patrick will keep you updated."

The neighbors and friends left, each giving Jazz a supportive hug on their way out. "Okay, we need classical music it serves our needs better than hard rock. I will want pillows for her back. They're right there in the stereo. Tye and Rusty before you leave, grab those tennis balls on the hall table. I want to give her relief from the back labor."

Clancy's performance of the monolog performance of small town doctor taking charge knocked it out of the park. Patrick ran around grabbing Jazz's bag and loading the car with supplies. He had his list making at least ten trips in and out of the house.

"Patrick I could sure use a cup of tea be a doll and brew us a pot of tea why I play doctor I'll be here for a while. Get her ice chips and please stop screaming directions as if you were Otto Preminger."

"Sorry, I will make things as organized as possible."

"We're having a baby not remaking an epic Hollywood Saga."

Three hours later a car parade reminiscent of a scene from the movie Mad, Mad World. Wound along the Coast headed for the hospital in SLO Town. Sixteen agonizing hours later Jazz Kelly gave birth.

"Clancy she's beautiful with auburn hair and blue eyes." She was Patrick's girl on sight the nurses got a laugh out of Patrick puffed up, the proud peacock in the nursery. He told anyone who listened about his role in this drama as the godfather.

Patrick entered her hospital room with his usual flamboyant style. He had a huge bouquet of apricot roses he smiled, and she couldn't help but think. What an exuberant bundle of love had become?

Patrick spoiled her rotten how he got everything done was a mystery. It didn't matter she gave birth in the wee hours of the morning. He brought her the biggest and the best flowers. He wanted nothing but the best for her which made him even more remarkable.

His greeting sung in a lilting tone cracked her up even under her exhausted condition, "Happy Mother's Day, baby girl. You look as if you have a reservation waiting for you in hell, no offense, the baby is exquisite. Have I covered everything?"

He leaned his check into her ready for an air kiss when it didn't happen he became concerned. "How is everything feeling if you know what I mean? An overview is fine please I don't want you to feel obligated to share the details."

"Do you really have to ask me that question?" She was so exhausted she barely had the energy to speak.

"I can see for myself not so good huh, ouch."

"Oh, Patrick I'm so tired please I have no witty repartee."

"I know Diva I can imagine how grueling this whole thing has been on your body."

"Trust me you don't want to know."

"Jazz I couldn't have stood it one more second; thank God she got here. I'm exhausted I'm staying for a quick minute. Sleep awaits me I'm afraid it's the last for a while. You'll forgive me when I say let's not ever do this again."

"You won't get an argument from me. But honestly, Patrick isn't she unbelievable?"

"No, Diva she's magnificent have you heard those lusty lungs on Sierra Cass Kelly. The girl is going to be an Opera singing savant, there will be no sleeping. I swear our girl is the loudest and the prettiest in the nursery."

"You're crazy Patrick she was a baby you're giving her too much credit. She's not even two hours old, but I agree with you on being the prettiest."

"Think what you want Jazz I say she recognized my voice. I read babies can hear while they're in the tummy."

She was too tired to laugh, but couldn't help it Patrick was the funniest guy she knew. It wasn't what he said, but how he said it.

"Honest Diva I now believe in miracles, I swear she turned her head in my direction the minute I spoke. She knows her Uncle Paddy's voice I'm so happy she recognized me."

"She didn't recognize your voice Patrick; you scared her to death she wants to sleep she's tired too."

"Okay, I can take a hint Jazz. One more thing before I forget. I have an incredible idea the design firm let's name it after the new baby girl Sierra Designs for luck."

So they did.

Excerpt Déjà Vu of Love Zurich

Fall of 2003

Sierra Designs was a success, and both the baby and the design house grew with many houses, corporate headquarters, and four seasons of design episodes of Let's Swap Casas later. She built what became her obsession seven years ago. In searching, for the success, she knew, could be hers there was a time she gave up who she was. The rapid growth took them both by surprise as it did the design world. No one expected the huge following the show generated. It was a tidal wave of success for fans loved the personalized style Jazz was becoming well known for with her eccentric and out of the box brand.

Last week Patrick told her a publishing house wanted her to do a book. The amazing part of it was it didn't scare her one bit. Her response had been why didn't I figure out? The show had propelled them into the big league.

They had sponsored contracts with six major brands had aligned their products with Let's Swap Casas and Jazz's personal brand. Her good fortune might look out of nowhere, but she watched it happen minute by minute. One day she was a small little design firm off the beaten path a year later Sierra Designs became a force to reckon with in the Interior design community. The design and decorating elite of Los Angeles, San Francisco and beyond took notice. What people didn't know there were seven long years between those two events?

Competitors who got beat out on bids by the perceived innocence of Jazz. They learned soon enough not to underestimate Jazz's determination. Her instinct became part, and parcel of the other side to the Diva's personality Patrick referred to it as her killer self. Those who mistook her kindness for weakness did so once. Most learned after the first meet and never make the same mistake again. Her reputation was of stone covered marshmallow for a reason. She was a relentless workaholic. Once she found her niche Jazz exploded with energy and success. She and Patrick had a dream, and when their big break came in the unexpected form of a television show. She should have gotten used to happenstance by now.

Sierra was ten months old she spent her days in the care of Patrick. His full-time job became the joy in his life. During the day while Jazz went to the office and out on sales calls. He always assured her staying busy for him wasn't hard, teaching Sierra life lessons and skills.

They raised Sierra to enjoy the benefits of growing up on the beach and exploring tide pools. Now here she was while he kept the home fires burning, and he expected Jazz to push Sierra Designs across the European finish line in the top position. Her passion had turned the small firm. Into a powerhouse, they were both proud of the work they had accomplished. Sierra Designs became a serious competitor when they entered a bid or pitched a project.

When Jazz secured the bid, to design for international pop stars Malibu mansion, the stakes raised much higher. Jazz didn't mess around she developed into a barracuda business woman.

To win plum contracts was paramount, and Jazz went after it the day they received their first win on a bid was a stellar day. Sierra Design never looked back. It was a day to remember Patrick got food poisoning and began a new chapter for them both and the business.

Patrick was at his best whether at a drafting table or in the nursery. He prepared to do whatever he had to for them to support their lives, and he loved; every minute Jazz knew. Sobriety was a new thing for him as was Sierra for her born into the world of love surrounded by a wall of protection.

There was no way he'd risk his sobriety by working in the dog eat dog world Jazz did daily. Jazz agreed with his thinking it was not worth the risk of him falling off his program. Patrick always assured her he was happy to carry a diaper bag this life rekindled his hope for the future. She knew he loved how they divided up the responsibilities. Patrick was a super godfather for Sierra. He delighted to spend the day in Sierra's world learning and exploring. His goal was never to live in the cutthroat business world Jazz thrived in daily.

His presence in their lives made her life easier. After Sierra went to bed, they'd work long into the night she'd sketch designs. He worked with the layouts, drawings and schematics of the designs Jazz created the day.

They filmed the first season of Swapping Casa. Patrick's idea of using the neighbors' apartments was brilliant, and their group of misfits was the first homeowner guest. They were the first production crew and helped flesh out the show. Cass, the owner, came up with the name.

Tye was one whose contribution was the by now famous tagline of the show, Times Up. It was crazy, a hectic schedule they both worked for the first few years. In retrospect, Jazz thought of those years as the best so far. She was a young mother, getting recognition as a success in her industry. Who could feel anything but love for the life she got to enjoy? She was always at her best pitching a design or handling the press. Patrick took over managing the cash flow of the family. Plus he managed the dry, tedious business management of the company.

Jazz worked sixty to eighty hours a week and had the luxury of Sierra being safe and happy under Patrick's attentive eye. Sierra needed time with her, and so she got time in the evening and weekends.

She arrived home after a tough day at the office. Her favorite pastime became the time she spent with her daughter, playing mom. Patrick's job was to run the whole place so she could focus on Sierra.

The current, improved Patrick bore no resemblance. To the self-pitying drunk, she first met. Everyone in their circle could see his heart was full to the brim; Patrick stayed, busy keeping up with a two-year-old. He didn't have the time or inclination to drink, carouse or feel sorry for his life, and loses.

He always made it a point to hit a few meetings every week. Regardless of what was going on in their lives. There didn't appear to be any point in tempting fate he was busy with a child plus cleaning, cooking, and Sierra's life lessons.

Patrick was a self-proclaimed household god. Everybody in town needed time to get used to it. Except for the two for Jazz, it felt right, normal as a family. The little decorating show they produced on local public access. Became a monster hit. Jazz's fan base was near cult level.

They copied her haircuts and makeup the first invitation to walk a Red Carpet came, and Patrick celebrated. Then he had to force her to attend initially. Then one day out of nowhere she got a call from none other than Mimes Costa. She was on vacation in Santa Barbara, and the show was still on local cable.

Patrick pushed her out the door he had been so excited to set up the meeting. Although he had never met Mims, he knew her well. He suggested they meet on the back patio of the compound. Jazz thought it was a great idea and loved showing Mims how far she'd come.

Besides it allowed them the privacy to talk openly and so the three met for lunch. The three friends discussed the potential the joint venture had for all concerned and ate Seafood Salads. The ladies enjoying icy Chardonnay, and Patrick indulged in his addiction to Sweet Tea. Ideas flowed and before the lunch was over Let's Swap Casas would prime time. Over the years, Mims became a top executive producer. In a genre, she helped create. Reality Television was a hit whose time had come someone's humdrum life was the freshest vehicle to sell toothpaste. Mims was credited as the visionary of the genre she did it with the style of a glorious bitch. She set the gold standard in reality programming.

The show got picked up in different regional markets and while the budget grew so did the quality of the production. Even the scripts got better when they let Jazz be Jazz. Their fan base was a group of dedicated stay-at-home moms, college students, and seniors. Plus anybody else who loved decorating projects and liked or hated their neighbor. Haters included the more traditional decorating shows and their designers. They came after Jazz most were flat jealous of the success of Casa's and her personal brand. Who could blame them it was incredible.

Patrick was there from the beginning. He knew how hard she worked, and so did her kid and the other people whose opinion she was concerned with her crew. For the success, she was enjoying everyone presumed it was an overnight thing, but they both worked hard for this achievement.

His role as a loving stage parent sometimes he wasn't sure the relationship was balanced. Jazz hated when he reacted as if he didn't contribute as much it wouldn't be possible to get half the stuff done without him. But the glory always came to Jazz and Patrick relished staying low key and avoiding any publicity.

"Diva you're a remarkable person who is emerging a breathtaking butterfly out of her cocoon. It's more than I deserve to sit back and watch it happen I adore you, and I'm proud of what you get done and the hits you take."

She kept her integrity and reputation as a designer. Their clientele became the rich, and famous. Their real financial success came during when Patrick suggested selling sheets and towels. The linens had a cute stamped with the original signature line Beach Funk State of Mind from Sierra Designs. The one Patrick had sketched out many years ago. Jazz's favorite symbol the dragonfly hovered over a cute little seating vignette on the beach.

Her favorite part was the polished toenails of a person peeking out, from under the umbrella. Patrick spent hours trying to convince her to change the original but she wouldn't. The towels were brown with blue trim it was a basic towel made of incredible fabric. She didn't even listen to reason the logo it had great sentimental value to her.

Jazz was practical in her career. But every once in a while she had a weird superstitious thing happen to her once provoked she'd never change. Her belief was the logo was their lucky charm.

One day Ruth McClinton called to hire Sierra Designs for a job. She had a Castle needed work in Zurich. After months of artful negotiating, Patrick got the gig organized. Jazz closed the deal from a design perspective. Then it became up to Patrick to dig in and do the negotiations for the actual design fee. They played the game of good designer, bad designer to perfection. When Jazz heard through the grapevine, Ruth was happy once Jazz got her back on track and demonstrated client control. It was important she understood the depth of the project when she reviewed the final contract.

They would do well with this one Patrick negotiated the hell out of it. Her job was the pitch the design her partner got included first class travel and hotel accommodations. Her meal per Diem and ground transportation with a driver are covered. Most important no one except the best was good enough to do her project.

She got to make final decisions on the vendors, craftsmen, and contractors. Patrick had a great sense of accomplishment to have his first design show picked up and approved by the network. Everything would be ready she had to do was step off the plane and go right to work.

Jazz wasn't convinced she had the energy to take on this huge production in one session. Patrick's enthusiasm for the project convinced her. She was a business woman, and she had a negative feeling about this project being a money maker.

Her fans didn't care if rich ladies who lived in castles had headaches with their renovations. Stuck taking the trip she gave in with as much grace as she could muster. It was frustrating when her pleas for a better idea fell on deaf ears. Not ready for the challenge of working with the picky, often contentious Ruth.

While trying to film their first international special, there were other potential clients, she'd enjoy working with more. She was the Executive Producer of Sierra Productions and Designs she should have options. Patrick knew Jazz better than anyone he could gain her cooperation with the right approach she was a workhorse. She always gave the client their money's worth without question? Ruth was no exception Sierra Designs always delivered.

During one of their family picnics at the barbecue pit, Patrick shared the other details of his plan. He knew her so well and waiting for the best time to broach the topic was the key. If he was wrong and his timing could have been better, she'd plant her feet and get stubborn.

He was so close to overcoming all of her doubts and giving into the trip. He knew being a half a world away from him, and Sierra was the only holding her back Jazz didn't do well alone. They started this business so she could enjoy this time of raising Sierra. She hated being without her family or the comfort of her home.

Then there was the stress of the show; production season was getting under way. There was a ton of stuff to handle, and Patrick swore he could take of everything. It took convincing, but at last, he convinced her it was a marvelous opportunity. He had the money spent they'd make expanding.

Everything was timing and right now was the time to break into the European market. Once the decision got made, things happened quickly the production unit was hired, and the script finished. Jazz relented and got on the board turning it into the first Swapping Casa Castle Special. It gave them an opportunity to expand, on someone else's checkbook.

The business woman in her found it too much to resist. Her goal of expanding production with these featured specials had always been at the back of her mind. They use the Chateau and castles with distinctive spaces and rich history deserving a full renovation.
