Chapter Two

 

Hollywood and Highland loomed ahead, more than just an intersection but a modern venue that combined all the elements of a mall with a classic downtown, plus the energy of entertainment with theaters, a bowling alley, and more. Under normal circumstances, Slattery avoided it, preferring to do his shopping at chain discount stores and to view films in a retro theater away from the crowds. He’d taken his mom here on her sole visit and she’d adored the place. Hollywood and Highland seemed to offer something for almost any taste, so despite all the chrome and glass and bold, colorful signs, he’d suggested it to please Sabetha. From the happy expression she wore, he thought he’d nailed that one.

And he wondered why he’d made such an effort for a woman he’d just met, however pretty or intriguing. It was out of character for the man he’d become, although once, as he well remembered, he’d adored women. He dated early and all through high school then into college. As a new recruit, then a military man serving in the United States Army, he delighted in dating new gals. Then he met Tamara and fell hard, but the love died when the romance somehow turned into a restraining order. Her rejection soured him on relationships and women in general. He liked the mature ones, like April at the coffee shop, because they offered kindness without threat, human interaction without risk. His dates had been brief, friendly rather than romantic, and few.

With Sabetha’s light grip on his arm, the soft, floral scent of her perfume in his nose, he recognized this experience as different. He wanted to know what made this woman tick, why she landed in Southern California, and where she came from. Like a sap, he wondered what color might be her favorite, if she liked posies or pearls, and how those full lips would taste beneath his mouth.

“So, what do you do when you’re not being a hero?” she asked, derailing his train of thought.

“I’m a security guard.” He stuck to his cover story. “I work at a lot of different events, everything from conferences at hotels to protecting the rich and famous on occasion.”

“Ah. I thought so.”

“Thought what?”

“I figured you for law enforcement or military or both.”

Damn, but she possessed keen powers of observation. “Guilty,” he said. “I’m both if you can consider a security guard a member of law enforcement. And I did some time in Iraq so you’re right. You’re damn good.”

Sabetha laughed and made sweet, melodic noise. “I like to think I’m observant. It helps to be in my occupation.”

So what the hell was she, he wondered, a detective, police or freelance, a reporter or attorney. “So what do you do for a living?”

“I work in radio,” she said.

No wonder her voice had such a lovely sound.

She continued. “It’s not one of the top or big stations so you’ve probably never heard of it.” Sabetha shifted her voice from conversational to a professional patter. “Crooners to country music classics, all the best songs from the 1920s through the 1950s.”

He didn’t listen to a lot of radio but he sometimes let it play while he slept to drown out noise from the street and adjacent apartments. “I have, actually,” he told her. “I’ve never heard you though. I’d remember.”

A little smile rippled across her lips like sunlight on water. “Would you?”

“Hell, yeah, I’m sure I would.” The woman had no way to know he hadn’t dated in several months, and he kept relationships as casual as he could when he did. She must not realize what a loner he’d become, and the idea that nothing in his manner had alerted her pleased him. Maybe I don’t come off as much of a flake or creep as I figured. “But I’ll tune in now, for sure. When do you work?”

“Weekdays, I work a shift, from eleven a.m. until five o’clock. I have Saturdays off, like today, and on Sunday I work from one p.m. until sign-off at midnight. I also have Fridays off unless I fill in for another DJ. And my schedule is always subject to change.

Slattery tried to fit her hours into his routine. “I’m not up early much,” he told her. “A lot of the events I work are in the evenings, but I could listen while I’m still in bed. Sounds like your evenings are free, most nights.”

His weren’t but he did have free ones, and he wondered if somewhere down the road he might meet her again. Sabetha intrigued him and interested him in a way no woman had for too damn long so he wanted to pursue the possibility.

She shook her head. “Not all of them. I also sing at a little bar on Cahuenga, country and country rock, even a little old school rockabilly. My real passion is to sing. Radio’s the way I pay the bills.”

He imagined Sabetha on a dark stage standing before a microphone, belting out some classic Patsy Cline, and his dick hardened. “I’d love to hear you sing.”

Sabetha snorted. “You might be disappointed, but you’re welcome to come try every other Saturday plus every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Do you even like country?”

Slattery did and he didn’t. He’d been raised on it and he had his favorites, but he also liked the hard rock sounds of AC/DC, KISS, and Ozzy. “I like a lot of it,” he said. “My musical tastes are eclectic at best but yeah, I like plenty of country music. Hell, I’m from Shreveport, home to the old Louisiana Hayride, cradle of the stars.”

Her eyes sparkled. “You’re from Shreve? I knew you had to be from the Ark-La-Tex by your accent. It’s familiar so I like it.”

“I thought the same thing about yours,” he told her. “Where do you call home?”

“East Texas,” she replied. “I’m from a little town in Cherokee County—Rusk. Johnny Horton grew up around there and his parents are buried in the local cemetery.”

He knew the place. “I’ve been there, eaten at the restaurant on the corner where the highways cross. My Aunt Mae lives in Jacksonville, just up the road. I used to spend a few weeks every summer there with my cousins, and once they could drive, we ran the roads all over the place.”

“Then you’re almost home folks,” Sabetha said. Her arm tucked into his tightened. “We used to go to Shreveport several times a year to shop and have fun. My parents like the casinos and once I got old enough, so did I. My brother, Jackson, and his family live in Bossier.”

Close to four million people in Los Angeles and he’d met a woman from his home country. The odds had to be staggering, although he knew there had to be plenty of people who’d hauled ass from Louisiana and the Ark-La-Tex region for California. “It’s a small world.”

“It sure as shooting is,” Sabetha said. “I’m glad I ran across you, Slattery.”

“Yeah?” he replied. “Same back at you.”

Slattery might have tried to say more, to sift through the various emotions swirling through his battered body like a severe thunderstorm, but they arrived across the street from Hollywood and Highland so he shuttered any openings. “And we’re here.”

“Let’s cross before the light changes,” she cried and shifted her grasp to his hand. Then she ran, nimble as a deer, across the busy thoroughfare and he had no choice but to keep up or fall. Since his amputation, he’d possessed an irrational fear of falling. He seldom attempted more than a moderate walk. His dash after the thief happened before he had time to think or he probably wouldn’t have attempted it. By the time they fetched up on the sidewalk outside the venue, his phantom pains had ramped into severe levels. When she slowed to a casual gait, he halted and released her hand. His breath came hard and fast, as much fear as exertion.

“Don’t tell me you’re out of shape,” Sabetha said with a laugh until he met her gaze.

She must have seen the hurt in his eyes because her merriment faded away. “Slattery, what’s wrong?”

“Never mind, I’m fine.”

He should have known his brief happiness would be fleeting. The burst of hope he might’ve found a friend or something more ebbed away. Once she knew Slattery as an amputee, a cripple who couldn’t walk right without his prosthesis, Sabetha would draw back with the usual combination of horror mixed with pity. It had happened before and he had no doubt she’d find an excuse to cut the outing short. They hadn’t even exchanged phone numbers. Even if they had, it wouldn’t matter, because she wouldn’t call and he would never see her again. A harsh grief, heavy as indigestion, filled his soul because he’d wanted to get to know her, and now he wouldn’t. Slattery limped over to the main entrance and leaned his back against the wall. He waited for her to make up an excuse and leave him.

“No, you’re not. You’re hurting,” she said. He glanced up to see her blue eyes intent on him. “What’s the matter? Did you turn your ankle or something?”

Slattery might as well get it over with. “I don’t have an ankle to sprain,” he snapped. “Or a left leg from the knee down.”

Awareness changed her expression from curious to concern. “Okay. So what do you need? Should you sit down or take a pain pill or what?”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“Then let’s go find a bench or something. Do you have medication?”

He did. Slattery always carried a few pain pills along with some plain ibuprofen. “Yeah, but it doesn’t help much.”

Sabetha extended her hand. “Well, let’s go sit awhile then and see. Come on, Slattery.”

His halfhearted protest never passed his lips. Instead, he took her hand and they walked together into the structure. When they located a bench, Slattery sank gratefully onto it with a sigh. Sabetha settled down beside him.

“How long have you had the prosthesis?” she asked, casual and conversational.

Slattery spit out the answer. “Since Iraq.”

“So, it’s been awhile. Is it a problem with the socket?”

She knew more than the average person about artificial limbs, and he noted it with something close to admiration.

“I doubt it. It’s phantom pain from the leg that’s gone but not forgotten.”

“I understand why pain pills probably don’t work then. Is there anything that does?”

He met her eyes full on and never blinked. “Whiskey.”

“That’s a cure for anything that ails you, isn’t it?”

Slattery exhaled hard. “Most of the time, yeah.”

“So do you still want to do lunch and hang out, or do you want to go home for a drink?”

He could almost taste the rich, golden flavor of good whiskey on his tongue, but he shook his head. Slattery wanted to hang out with this amazing person, at least for a little while longer. “I’m up for lunch if you still are.”

“You bet I am, but let’s shop a little first. Whaddya think?”

“I think it’s a plan,” he said. “It’s what we started out to do.”

“Then we will, as long as you’re up for it.”

Without doubt, he answered, “I am.”

“And your leg?”

He considered it for a moment and grinned a little. “It still hurts but not so much,” he said. “So me and my leg, we’re good.”

“Then, darlin’, let’s shop till we drop or need lunch.”

Sabetha’s casual endearment flowed into his ears like water into a thirsty cowboy’s throat, but he doubted she meant it personally. Texas girls, if he remembered right, were prone to sprinkling “honey” and “darling” and such through their conversation. Probably wasn’t personal, but he still liked it.

Slattery tagged along as she sauntered through the first-level shops. The clouds delivering the earlier rain vanished, and the sun shone with full wattage. When Sabetha headed within the venue to the upper levels, he trailed behind. He bought nothing, but she picked out a new pair of sunglasses and a sheer, lace-trimmed black blouse she said she would wear to sing. Her manner toward him didn’t change, and she didn’t stop to baby him or fuss about his leg. She treated it like a fact of life, nothing more or less, a sharp contrast to other women. In his experience, most gals either were turned off by the fact he might be considered handicapped or crippled or they hovered, overwhelming him with too much care and faux concern. Sabetha did neither, and he liked her that much more.

“What do you think?” she asked. She held up two lipsticks, one a vibrant dark plum, the other a carnation bright pink. “I like the pink, I think, but I don’t know.”

He snorted. “I’m no beauty consultant but the plum would look fantastic on you, Sabetha. That kind of pink is for little girls, not women.”

She laughed. “You’re probably right, Slattery. I’ll take the plum and then let’s eat. I’m starving.”

Waiting for her, Slattery wondered what she would choose. He’d noticed a sushi place, a fancy steakhouse, an Italian upscale restaurant, sandwiches, a tea room, pizza, and burgers. A big, thick, juicy burger would be his pick but he waited. If she chose sushi or something else he didn’t care to eat, he guessed he might make an effort to choke it down. I’ll try to be a good sport if I can.

With all of her purchases stuffed into a single shopping bag, Sabetha joined him.

“Okay, where do you want to eat? There’s all kinds of choices here.”

“Are you still paying?”

“Of course—I told you I would because you got my wallet back.”

“Then it’s your call, ladies’ choice.”

Sabetha grinned. “All right, fair enough.”

Slattery figured it would be the dreaded sushi or a damned salad or some kind of fish crusted with some kind of nuts or fruits or something that wasn’t natural in the least. When Sabetha stopped in front of a restaurant made to resemble a traditional diner, his appetite increased. “Will this do?”

“You bet it will.”

When the enticing smell of frying beef on the grill, sizzling onions, chili, fresh fried potatoes and more hit his nose, Slattery thought he’d died and gone to food heaven. He glanced at the menu and made his pick—a double cheeseburger—and waited. Since the available fare included salads, chicken sandwiches, hot dogs, and more, he tried to guess what Sabetha might choose. He figured on a salad or chicken breast sandwich but she ordered the same thing he did, then told the server to bring an order of half fries, half rings to share. “And I want a vanilla malt with that,” she added. “Do you want a malt or shake or float?”

“Sure, give me a root beer float.” It would be the first he’d had in years.

The food turned out to be even better than he had hoped, the best burger he’d had in a long while, but the conversation pleased him more than the meal. Sabetha made conversation easy, talking with open confidence about her life both in LA and back in Texas. She didn’t pry but he found himself talking more than he’d done since before he came home, and by the time they finished, he figured his lips might be sore from stretching into so many smiles. And he noticed without being too self-conscious about it, that he slipped into Southern talk without trying. He dropped more than a few “g’s” and used colloquial phrases Sabetha understood.

Once the plates and glasses were slicked clean, he wondered what came next. He craved more time with Sabetha, but he didn’t want to trespass into her life unless she was willing. To test the water, he asked, “Did you get enough to eat?”

She pressed one hand against her stomach. “Oh, Lord, yes, I’m stuffed. Did you?”

“I’m fuller than a tick on a hound dog. Want to go catch a movie?”

“I don’t know. What time is it?”

Ah, he thought, here it comes, the bum’s rush. A sharp sadness knifed through him as he figured she wanted to split. After all, she’d repaid his good deed with a meal. “Almost two,” he said in a soft tone. If Sabetha wanted to pretend, he would too. “There’s plenty of time to see a movie if you want.”

As Slattery expected, she reached for the check and then her purse. “I would but I can’t. I need to get home, try to take a little nap if I can, then get ready. I’m singing tonight at the bar.”

He tamped down on his disappointment, unwilling to let it show. “Oh, well, then I can walk you back to your car.”

Sabetha put down a few bills for the tip and glanced over at him. “That would be great if I had a car but I don’t.”

“You don’t?”

“No, I don’t want to drive in this crazy traffic. I take the Metro almost everywhere, rent a car if I need to go very far, or call a friend. Do you have a car?”

“Yeah, I do. It’s an old beater, but it runs and it gets me where I need to go. I walk a lot, though, and use the bus or Metro myself.”

Or he would if he ever went anywhere other than work, but she didn’t need to know that.

“That’s wonderful,” Sabetha said, as if it truly was. “Then maybe you could give me a ride home. It would be faster, and you could see where I live. Then if you ever wanted to come over or anything, you’d know.”

Damn. His hearing must be fading fast. Slattery blinked, unable to believe what she said. If he’d heard right, she wasn’t giving him the old heave-ho. Cautious, he said, “Huh?”

Her cheeks flushed. “I asked if you might want to give me a ride home, but it’s no big deal. I can get the Red Metro line right out here. Thanks, Slattery, for everything.”

Sabetha sounded upset, and he stretched his hand across the table to touch hers. “Hey, wait a minute. I’d be happy to drive you home if you don’t mind walking over to my place to get the car. It’s a few blocks, just off Sunset Boulevard.”

“Are you sure?”

Slattery grinned. She must feel the same way, he realized, wanting more and afraid he wasn’t interested. “Very sure, honey. I’d love to. Hell, I’d even like to come listen to you sing tonight if you don’t mind. I’m not working, so I could.”

Her smile flashed brighter than a pack of paparazzi taking pictures at a premier. “I’d be happy for you to come. Maybe after the show we could grab a cup of coffee or something.”

With nonchalance he had to fake, Slattery nodded. “Sure, we could do that. Well, you ready to get out of here and fetch the car?”

“Anytime you’re ready, I’m willing.”

He liked the sassy things she said and appreciated even more the way Sabetha looked. More than anything, she treated him like a man, not an invalid or someone to pity. As they headed out onto the street, Slattery realized he ranked that highest of all.