Everybody's Hero. Tracy Kelleher

patience of Mother Teresa. “All right, I’m just going to ignore whatever’s going on.”

      “But why?”

      “Well, for one thing, do I need to remind you that you’re supposed to have fallen madly in love with Trish and are engaged to her?”

      “That’s pretend.”

      “Nevertheless.” Claire pulled out the schedule from her back pocket and unfolded it. “Let’s see. Tomorrow appears to be a full day. Eight o’clock tomorrow morning we hit your gym.” She folded the paper back up. “A little workout’s in store.”

      Jason wetted his lips, letting the tip of his tongue rest in the corner of his mouth. Never had a gesture of thoughtfulness been so X-rated.

      “Hey, Jason, I don’t know which gets more stares—you, or that damn bike of yours.” The hospital doorman tossed him the keys. Jason’s motorcycle had mysteriously rematerialized in front of the hospital.

      “Thanks, Nick,” he replied, then turned to Claire. “Can I give you a lift? I need both hands to steer, you know.”

      “Even without your hands, you’re not to be trusted. I think I’ll take my chances on the street.” She took a few backward steps.

      “Tomorrow.” Jason nodded. “I’ll be ready, Claire Marsden. Oh, which reminds me. Before, when you were explaining why you were going to ignore me, you said ‘for one thing.’ What I want to know is, what’s the other reason?”

      4

      CLAIRE WAS READY.

      But Trish wasn’t. Neither was Elaine. Maybe they couldn’t deal with putting on eyeliner and lipstick before sunrise two days in a row.

      A certain member of the male population didn’t seem to have those worries. Jason was there waiting, tapping his foot as he leaned against the check-in area in the Plaza’s lobby. A giant arrangement of Asiatic lilies and birds-of-paradise, which was perched on the marble counter, quivered in time to his strict tattoo.

      And talk about the opposite of all dressed up with nowhere to go. Under his leather bomber jacket, he wore a ratty sweatshirt and sweatpants. On his feet, an old pair of sneakers held together with duct tape. There wasn’t a logo in sight.

      It was a sponsor’s nightmare. And from the looks of the female clerks on duty, every woman’s fantasy.

      How could a man who’d just rolled out of bed and into yesterday’s laundry possibly generate that much raw sex appeal? Claire wondered. Thoughts of his just rolling out of bed lingered in her imagination. She set her jaw and marched forward. Simply do your job, she told herself. No weak knees today.

      Jason spotted her instantly and pushed himself away from the desk with his elbows. Claire stopped two feet in front of him and performed an obvious once-over. “Don’t overdress on my account,” she said in greeting him.

      Jason leaned over and picked up a canvas backpack. “I figured I’d change into my formal wear for when we go house hunting.”

      “Always important to impress the co-op boards.” After Jason’s morning workout, Claire was supposed to capture his search for the perfect abode in his new hometown. She couldn’t wait to see what marvel of mirrored glass and steel he would choose for himself. Her image of bachelor jocks living alone fit with some slick, Donald Trump skyscraper on the Upper East Side.

      “Vernon not joining us?” She let the doorman hail a taxi out front.

      “No, he has to hold some Romanian gymnast’s hand today. I’ve been upstaged by an eighty-pound tumbler.” He didn’t look stricken. “What about Trish? Still too early for her nail polish to dry?”

      “Don’t be so hard on Trish.” Claire defended her friend, even though there might be a grain of truth in Jason’s crack. “She may get a little carried away at times—”

      “Trust me. No man would ever complain about a woman getting carried away. At anytime.”

      Claire frowned and was about to snap back a retort when she caught herself. Jason had this unerring way of getting her goat. She had always considered herself fairly immune to “male speech.” After years of living in close quarters with war correspondents and soldiers, she had developed a tough skin when it came to many things—constant innuendos being only one of them.

      But conversations with Jason seemed to leave her as vulnerable as a schoolmarm. Why did he always seem to know which button to push? She must be getting soft in her old age. These days, after all, she was in the habit of sleeping on clean sheets—Pratese, Trish had informed her—and having a cleaning lady to do her wash—never had her T-shirts been so cuddly soft and April-fresh smelling.

      That was it! It was all that fabric softener. It was affecting her brain as well as her nasal passages.

      Satisfied that she had a petrochemical explanation for her softening response system, Claire squared her shoulders with a renewed sense of self-confidence and replied with her customary glibness. “I must remember that insight the next time the Secretary General of the United Nations asks me for my opinion on global warming. In the meantime, I’d like to discuss some of Patti’s other admirable traits.”

      “Patti?” A taxi pulled up, and Jason gave the address.

      “Sorry, Trish. Trish used to be known as Patti back in high school, but she decided to change it.”

      “Before or after sleeping with the sports editor?”

      Claire turned to him in the back seat of the taxi. “As surprising as this may be to you, the change was not part of some post-coital response. ‘Oh, now that I am a woman, I think I’ll change my name to Trish.’”

      Jason leaned back in his seat and gave her a wide-eyed stare. “That is hard to believe.”

      Claire stared back, taking in his look of mock amazement. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

      He tilted his head. “Very much so. Aren’t you?”

      Claire smiled thoughtfully. “I guess I am, too.” And she was. Despite her earlier misgivings, she found herself amused, maybe relaxed. No, not relaxed. “Anyway, to make a long explanation short—Trish used to be known as Patti because her name is really Patricia. But then she thought that sounded too Gidget-ish.”

      He leaned forward. “I realize that’s supposed to make it all crystal-clear, but who or what is a Gidget?”

      “Never mind. That’s not important. What is important is that Trish took me under her wing when I first showed up in Leeds Springs. I had never lived in America, never heard of the suburban high school scene. I was so out, I didn’t even know there was such a thing as an ‘in’ crowd. And Trish immediately made me part of the newspaper crowd, made me feel accepted. And her generosity didn’t end there. Later, when I’d be between assignments and back in the States, she always let me crash at her place, even kept a trunk with all my stuff. I’m there now as a matter of fact.”

      “She seems like quite a friend.”

      “The best. It’s on account of her that I’m shooting this job.” She turned to face Jason. The taxi turned sharply at the corner.

      “I’d say it was probably talent that got you the job. It’s probably just as much to Trish’s benefit, if not more, that you’re shooting the pictures.” He looked deadly serious.

      Claire scoffed. “Come off it. We all know that in this world, talent only gets you so far. Well, maybe not in your world, but in mine, anyway. It’s who you know that counts. If I can help out Trish, great. But bottom line, she’s the one who hired me.”

      “Were you always this cynical?”

      “You can call it cynical if you want. I prefer to think of it as realistic. In any case, it’s important to me that Trish doesn’t