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Steve used his shirttail and wiped the wrought-iron table on the terrace outside his penthouse apartment. Then he set down his laptop computer and took a long pull of his Sierra Nevada pale ale. The night air was cool, but it invigorated him.
Harker, who had brought pizza, was already sitting in a chair. “Tell me how it feels to be Santa.” He snorted and smirked. “I mean, dude, do you have a craving to gain sixty pounds? Eat sweets? Drink cocoa?”
“Very funny.”
“So what gives? Why do you have to play the jolly man again?”
“My boss has it in for me, that’s why. He figured out that I’m looking for another job.”
“Whoops.”
Steve glared at Harker. “Hey, you didn’t tell him, did you?”
Harker threw up both hands. “Whoa! Cool your jets, dude. I would never turn in a buddy. Besides, I don’t know the guy.”
“It was probably my agent undermining me,” Steve grumbled.
Harker opened the box of pizza. “Want a slice?”
Steve stared at the all-cheese pizza. “Uh, bro, where’s the meat?”
Harker did a double-take and threw up both hands. “Don’t shoot the messenger. Not my fault. The beauty at the order counter must’ve forgotten it.”
“Because you were making eyes at her.”
Harker grinned. “Can I help it if I turn heads?” He put a slice of pizza on one of the plates that Steve had placed on the table and took a sip of beer. “Nice night.”
“Yeah.” Beer in hand, Steve moved to the railing and searched the sky for the North Star. Sadly, the lights of Portland often obscured the stars, and tonight was no exception. As a kid, he’d loved looking at stars with his dad. He wondered for a moment if Hope was looking at the stars and then blocked the thought from his mind. She had kids. She lived in Hope Valley. End of story.
Giving up trying to find one identifiable constellation, he took in his view of the city below. It was bathed in glitzy Christmas wonder. The sound of carolers singing “Little Drummer Boy” in the street below drifted upward, and Steve found himself humming, recalling how the rhythmic par-um-pah-pah-pum soothed his brother.
“Let’s do this.” Harker pointed to the computer. “Open that baby up. Show me what you got. You asked me here to help you with your job search. I’m ready, willing, and able.”
Steve sat down, set his beer on the table, pushed the pizza box to one side, and flipped open his laptop. For two hours before Harker had arrived, Steve had explored job prospects. Granted, Zip Recruiter wasn’t the best source for his line of work, but he’d wanted to see what was out there. Maybe something his agent hadn’t come across. What positions for talented-beyond-belief, stats-savvy sports reporter had he found? Nothing. Nada. As in zip recruiter.
“Try Linked In,” Harker suggested. “Let’s do a deep dive. One of our Delta Taus must have some pull.”
In college, Steve had joined a fraternity against his better judgment. He’d always wanted to go it alone, but friends had convinced him that a fraternity could help him down the road. One buddy had said to him, Networking, man. That’s what it’s all about.
“Networking,” Harker said as if reading Steve’s mind.
Steve grunted.
“Yo, dude,” Harker said, spinning the computer in his direction. “You haven’t updated your resume in, what, two years? Are you a Neanderthal?”
Steve hadn’t felt the need.
“Okay, okay.” Harker turned the computer back toward Steve. “I know you’ve been a lone wolf since Gloria left, and you’re angry that she seared your hide, so you shut down on all fronts, but sometimes you’ve got to realize networking works. Reach out and they will help. Believe and they will come,” Harker added, screwing up the famous phrase from Field of Dreams.
Even before Gloria’s departure, Steve hadn’t been a networking kind of guy. He’d snared the intern job at KPRL in his sophomore year of college, and that had fixed his course. Now? Was this where he wanted to be for the rest of his life? Harker was right. Steve was adrift. And if Dave fired him, what then?
He started scrolling.
“Go, Santa, go.” Harker gave a fist pump. “You can do it.”
“Eat grits.”
“Ho-ho, hardy-har-ho.” Harker raised his beer in a toast. “Speaking of Gloria . . . have you heard from her?”
“Not a word. Don’t care.” Steve hated how she’d chided him when he’d had to play Giveaway Santa the first time, saying he was abasing himself and denigrating his career. She’d ordered him to stand up for himself. Say no. But if he’d walked then, where would he have gone? He didn’t have an in anywhere. He’d never applied for another position. That was when he’d reached out to his agent—his worthless agent.
Gloria. Steve sighed. Had he ever really been in love with her, or was it just the fantasy of being in love that had cemented his resolve to win her heart? She’d always done the weather right before the sports recap. She was there. Easy pickings.
Callow, Stevie, callow. You suck.
He took a pull on his beer. Their relationship was water under the bridge. He didn’t miss her. He didn’t miss her low jabs.
“Any leads yet?” Harker tapped the tabletop impatiently.
Steve glowered. “Cut me some slack.”
Harker leaned back in his chair. “Word on the street is you’ve dated a few lovely lasses since our last meet.”
“A few.”
“Any winners?”
“Nah.”
Taking another swig of pale ale, Steve thought of the women he’d gone out with. Pretty, brainless women. None had measured up to his ideal. Not that Gloria had been his ideal. On the other hand, though she was a self-centered egotist, she was smart—even if she couldn’t spell Minneapolis; spelling wasn’t all it was cracked up to be—and she was industrious. He liked someone who set goals.
“Have you met any of those kind, gentle women your mother wants you to meet?”
Like Hope? He said, “Nope.”
“Hey, I know,” Harker said. “Let’s stop looking for jobs, and let’s hook you up on a computer date with Mrs. Santa Claus. A woman like that would make your mom happy. A sweets-loving, cocoa-loving, gingerbread-house-loving beauty.”
Steve threw his friend a scathing look. “Cut it out!” He moved to the railing again, glanced down at the street, and spotted a bunch of millennials entering a bar, most likely a handful of attractive, brainless women among them.
No, sir, Stevie boy. No more of them for you. In fact, no women at all.
He had to get his career on track. Period.
