Love in the Air (5 page)

His dark eyes hidden beneath lowered lashes, Sullivan said without looking up, “Do the honors, will you, Jeffrey?” His gaze slowly lifted to Kay. “You introduce Kay.”

“Glad to, oh Great One,” Jeff quipped irreverently, pressing his palms together as one in prayer, bowing humbly over his steepled hands. Kay laughed at Jeff’s antics, as did everyone else at the table. She glanced nervously at Sullivan. His full mouth lifted into a grin; Kay relaxed a little.

“First of all, gang,” Jeff announced loudly, “C.A. does not stand for what you think. It’s Christmas angel; so keep that fact in mind, and no wisecracks, okay?” All laughed and Jeff winked at Kay. “C.A., my only love, that healthy-looking blond fellow at the other end of the table is Dallas Knight; Dallas handles the 10:00 p.m. to 2:00 a.m. slot.”

Nodding to her, the blond man smiled engagingly at Kay. “Welcome aboard, Kay. Need anything, you let me know.”

“Thank you, Dallas.” Kay liked his friendly face and manner.

“Across from old Dallas,” Jeff continued, “is Dale of Darkness, real name Dale Kitrell. He’s on the air from 2:00 a.m. until 6:00, when you and Sullivan come in to relieve him.” Jeff leaned closer to Kay and conspiratorially said in a stage whisper, “Dale’s weird, so stay clear of him. He’s spent too much time alone every night; I’m afraid it’s taken a toll. He talks to trees.”

Smiling at Jeff’s description, Dale Kitrell winked at Kay. “Jeff is understandably jealous of me, Kay. It’s not simply a case of my superior talent, it’s that I have all this thick, healthy hair, while as you can see, Jeff’s is rapidly thinning.” Dale ran a slender hand through his unruly red hair and grinned so broadly that all the freckles around his big green eyes ran together.

Kay laughed. “Glad to meet you, Dale. I’ll be listening to your show when I get up in the morning. And your hair is gorgeous, no wonder Jeff’s jealous.” She turned back to Jeff, still smiling.

Frowning, Jeff pretended dismay. “Jealous? Who’s jealous? Seems I recall something about bald-headed men being more virile…hell, I can’t wait till I lose it all. My sweet little wife says I get sexier every year.” He playfully growled at Kay before retrieving his wadded sailor cap from his pocket, setting it on his head and pulling it down over his impish blue eyes.

“Yeah,” Dale reminded Jeff, “but it’s my little wife that’s pregnant again.”

Ignoring Dale’s statement, Jeff said, “That youth over there that looks like he just got weaned last week is the midday man, Ace Black…get it? His real name is Bill Smith or something equally dull.” Ace, nineteen years old, tall, lanky, extremely shy, nodded to Kay.

The introductions continued. Kay met, in addition to the disc jockeys, two of the newsmen, the chief engineer and a couple of the top salespeople. All were polite, friendly and new to Kay. None had been at Q102 when she’d worked there before. They were obviously delighted to be a part of the congenial staff of Q102. Kay wanted to be as delighted as they, but while spirited conversation erupted all around her, Kay hazarded a glance at Sullivan Ward.

He was silent. His long fingers were wrapped tightly around a glass of beer. He was looking straight at her. His eyes darkened when she held his gaze. They sat quietly looking at each other and Kay, holding her breath, was relieved when Sherry, seated beside Sullivan, tugged on his sleeve, distracting him.

“Sullivan,” Sherry chattered happily, “I just think it’s so wonderful that you and Kay are going to be partners again, don’t you? Just think of all the fun you two will have making personal appearances. Gosh, you look so great together. She’s so beautiful and nice, not the least bit stuck-up. What’s that you’re eating?” Her hazel eyes went to the untouched plate in front of him.

“Prime rib,” Sullivan said, glancing at the shiny gold watch on his wrist. “I’m out of time,” he said abruptly, pushing back his chair.

“But, Sullivan,” Sherry pouted, “you can’t leave. You haven’t touched your food.”

He rose. His eyes were once again on Kay. “I’m not hungry,” he said truthfully, and Kay wished she could be as honest. That was Sullivan. He always said what was on his mind.

Without another word, Sullivan nodded to the people around the long table, turned and strolled toward the door. Kay watched him go. His long strides were sure, graceful, but determined. There was no doubt in her mind that he left because she’d joined the group. She sighed when his tall frame went out the door.

Kay ordered a salad and pushed it around on her plate while she laughed and talked with Jeff, Sherry and the rest of the staff. But she was relieved when the time finally came for Sherry to get back to her reception desk. Declining Jeff’s invitation to hang around while he had one more beer, Kay returned to the radio station with Sherry and went directly to her small office, closing the door behind her.

She’d no sooner placed her handbag in the bottom drawer of her desk than her phone rang. “Yes?” she said shakily.

“Kay, it’s Sam,” came the coarse, booming voice. “Hon, I just wanted to let you know that Benny Brown, our best salesman, just came in with the keys to the car he got for you over at the Porsche dealership.” Kay smiled. The new car was part of the deal she’d made in her new contract with Q102. Sam Shults hadn’t flinched when she’d asked for it. It was common practice for successful radio stations to trade advertising time on the air for goods and services. Sam had known that providing her with a car would be as simple as calling on a dealer and offering time on Q102. “Kay, honey,” Sam continued, “a Porsche is all right, isn’t it?”

“Sammy, I think I’ll be able to make do.” She laughed. “I’m thrilled to death, who wouldn’t be?”

“Good, Kay, I was just afraid…well, Sullivan has a big gray Mercedes and I didn’t want you to think…”

“Sam, I think a Mercedes is just right for Sullivan. I’m more than pleased with a Porsche, believe me.”

“You’re a sweetheart, but then you always were.” Sam sounded relieved. “Anyway, it’s downstairs in the parking lot. I’ve got the keys when you’re ready to leave.”

“As a matter of fact,” Kay said thoughtfully, “I need to start hunting for an apartment, so if it’s all right with you, I think I’ll leave for the day and spend the rest of the afternoon looking at a few places.”

“Do that, Kay. Want me to call Betty and have her come to town and help you?”

“You’re sweet, but no. I don’t think I’ll have too much trouble finding something I like…Sammy, does Sullivan still live over at the Park Lane Towers by Washington Park?”

“Sure does. Why don’t you ask him if they have anything available?”

“Hmm,” she said, “I will. See you in five minutes for those car keys.” Kay hung up the phone. “So he still lives atop the Park Lane Towers,” she said aloud. She retrieved her handbag and left her office, thinking she’d hunt for a place to live as far from the Park Lane Towers as possible.

Kay stepped into the hall just as Sullivan’s secretary, Janelle Davis, opened the door of Sullivan’s office. Janelle stood in the portal, speaking to him, holding the heavy door half open. Kay walked nearer and overheard what the tall, attractive woman was saying.

“Must you continue doing that, Sullivan? We really need to handle some correspondence.” Janelle Davis’s voice was softly scolding.

Kay couldn’t help herself. As she drew closer to Sullivan’s door, her betraying gaze went past Janelle and into the room. She got only a fleeting glimpse before she tore her eyes away, turned and rushed through the reception area toward Sam Shults’s office.

But even after she’d picked up the keys to her brand-new red Porsche, and left, she was still seeing Sullivan, shirtless, a sheen of perspiration covering his bare torso, chinning himself.

Outside, Kay hurried down the sidewalk to the pay parking beside the Petroleum Club building where the shiny new Porsche awaited. She reached the low-slung car, unlocked the door and paused. Slowly she threw back her head. Eyes squinting in the glaring September sun, Kay lifted a hand to shade them. She looked straight up for an instant, searching out the tall windows at the very top of the building.

Carefully counting across, she located Sullivan’s. She saw nothing, no one, and yet she had the eerie feeling that he’d swung gracefully down from that steel chinning rod and was at his window watching her. That he’d caught her foolishly looking up.

Kay jerked the car door open and lunged into the low leather seat of the new automobile. Fingers shaking, she jammed the keys into the ignition, started the powerful engine and roared out of the parking lot as though the devil himself were after her.

At four-thirty the next morning, the clock radio beside Kay’s bed came on. Kay blinked, looked around and snuggled deeper into the blue sheets. The room was pitch-black; it was much too early for anyone to get up. Eyes closing again, Kay heard Dale Kitrell, the all-night man at Q102, saying in a deep, pleasant voice, “So if there’s anyone out there, I’m playing this one for you. It’s ‘Hold Me’ by Fleetwood Mac. Wish somebody would hold me,” Dale growled and turned up the music.

Kay, remembering the slim, red-haired man, opened her eyes, smiled sleepily and rose. Lazily divesting herself of her pajamas, she pulled a plastic shower cap over her hair and stepped into the shower. Sighing, she stood under the pelting spray, letting its warmth bring her fully awake.

With awareness came apprehension. It was to be her first morning back on the air with Sullivan. Kay turned around in the steamy shower, letting the water pepper her back while she idly slid a soapy washcloth over her body.

How would they behave? Would the old magic that they’d once shared still be there? Would they still be able to look into each other’s eyes and know exactly what the other one was going to say? Kay trembled. What they’d had then was so free and easy, yet so powerful and effective. They’d been the golden couple, effortlessly charming their listening audience from that dim control room that was their stage.

Kay smiled wistfully as she lathered her slender arms. How many times had she and Sul sat behind the control board teasing, touching, even kissing. It had been a game to try to make the other lose composure. Kay’s smile broadened. What fun they’d had then, what pure, undiluted joy with each other and the work they loved doing.

Kay turned around, lifted her face to the watery needles, finished her shower and stepped out of the marble stall. Drying her body on a thirsty blue towel, she padded back into the bedroom. She drew a pair of pantyhose from the top drawer of the bureau, leaned over to inhale the still-fresh roses and walked back to the unmade bed.

She sat down on its edge and she wondered. Was Sullivan now stepping from his shower in his penthouse apartment across town? Was that tall, spare body glistening wet and smelling of soap? Was the ebony hair damp and shiny? Was that crisp mat of hair on his broad, dark chest beaded with water?

Kay shivered and stepped into her pantyhose, frantically jerking them up over her hips and quivering stomach. Hose in place, she almost ran to the dresser to seek a bra, eager to cover naked, swelling breasts whose nipples were becoming taut.

Kay arrived at the studios of Q102 half an hour early. Dressed sensibly in an attractive cowl-necked cotton dress of gold and blue stripes, a wide blue leather belt and matching shoes, she used her key to let herself into the dim reception area. It was eerily quiet, as were the empty sales offices opening into it.

Kay’s heels made no sound as she crossed the lobby and headed down the long corridor toward her office. Suddenly the hair stood up on the back of her neck. She could sense someone behind her. She whirled around so abruptly she bumped into the hard chest of Sullivan Ward.

Kay let out a little gasp of surprise. Sullivan’s hands were on her upper arms, steadying her. Eyes on the level of his throat, Kay’s senses were assailed with the dizzyingly irresistible scent of his clean, warm skin. Instinctively, she inhaled deeply, loving the familiar yet strange male essence that was Sul. Her Sul.

Abruptly, his long fingers encircling her arms, Sullivan set her away from him. Kay looked up at his face. In his eyes was an enigmatic expression. It fled immediately and a look of impatience replaced it.

“I—I didn’t hurt you, did I?” she asked, as his hands left her.

A mocking grin lifted the corners of his lips. “What do you think?” he said flatly. He turned and walked away from her. Kay stood rooted to the spot, dumbly watching him head for his office. The way the linen trousers he wore clung to his slim hips commanded her attention briefly, then her eyes slid upward to those wide, chiseled shoulders and the white cotton shirt stretching across them. His shoulder blades were sliding upward a little as though he were shrugging about something.

Kay bit her bottom lip. This was not going to work. Not at all. An unhappy Sullivan was going to make this first show a disaster. She just knew it. They could no longer work together. She should never have returned.

At two minutes before six, Kay left her small office. At the opposite end of the hall, Sullivan did the same. They met at the door to the control room. Wordlessly, Sullivan put a palm to the door and pushed it inward, inclining his dark head.

Just as silently, Kay nodded and stepped past him into the room where bleary-eyed Dale Kitrell was signing off his show. Nodding to the pair, the tired disc jockey said into the microphone, “So that’s it for the night people. Be listening again when yours truly, Dale of Darkness, comes back your way in the dead of night.” The weary man turned up the volume, letting the last record lead into the 6 o’clock news.

“Hi folks.” He rose, yawned and stretched long arms over his head.

“Good morning, Dale.” Kay smiled at him while Sullivan reached out and shook his hand.

As soon as Dale was gone, Sullivan walked behind the control board, drew a second chair up beside the one Dale Kitrell had just vacated and looked at Kay. “Think you can fill out the federal communications log if I handle everything else?”

Kay slowly circled the control panel. Purposely walking past the first chair, she took the seat directly in front of the console. Swiveling around, she looked up at him and said calmly, “Not only can I handle the FCC log, Sullivan, I can run the board as well. I will cue and spin the records, position and play the tapes and run the proper commercials.” She smiled sweetly and added, “You just have a seat beside me and charm your listeners. I’m fully trained to handle all of this.” Her small hands made a sweeping gesture around the glass-enclosed room with its racks of records, carousel of tapes and cartridges and the latest in electronic equipment.