by Elizabeth Belmont
"Oh my God! Woman, you don't just burn your bridges, you blow up the road as well." Laughing at both the unfolding story and the young woman gracing her San Francisco bedroom, Kylee handed her best friend since grade school a second glass of Pinot Noir and took a seat on the cushioned bench at the end of the bed. "I mean, no kidding; all his stuff out the window?"
Accepting the offered glass of ruby comfort, Valerie leaned back against the oak headboard of Kylee's bed, taking a deep sip. "Shirts, pants, you name it, right out the window."
Shaking her head, Kylee took her own swig of Napa Valley red and leaned forward to rest her arm on the blue silk of her favorite bedspread. "OK, Val, we've had our wine and you've had your cry. Now spill."
Setting her glass down on the nightstand, Val ran her hands through her hair. 'Hair straight as a stalk of Idaho wheat and just as blonde,' her mom liked to say. A complete opposite of Kylee's almost blue-black curls, courtesy a heritage consisting of both Greek and Portuguese. The girls had met at a Seattle, Washington, neighborhood pool their third-grade summer, one light-skinned and slathered in sunscreen, and the other already well-browned by the early July sun. Val had offered to share her kickboard with Kylee, and a lifelong friendship was born. As they got older, they found they shared a lot of common interests. Sports, fashion, and to their parents shared headaches, boys. Luckily for Val and Kylee, their tastes in the male gender ran in two different directions. Kylee always went for the loud, athletic types. Val preferred the quieter debate and chess club boys.
"Come on, Val, you're stalling. I want to hear every detail, including how you got away clean."
"What do you mean, got away clean?"
Shrugging, Kylee swirled her wine a little and looked up at her friend. "You know, got away. I mean, let's face it, Ming the Merciless isn't exactly your usual type."
Taking up her glass again, Val frowned down the bed at her friend. "What do you mean my type? And don't call him Ming."
"I mean, unlike the last two milksops you dated, he didn't strike me as the kind of man who would respond to his clothes flying through the air with just a shrug and a tear. And while we're on the subject, why not Ming? I like Ming. It fits him better than Jason."
Val had to partially agree with her best friend. Her last few boyfriends were indeed milksops. First, it had been a bartender/actor she met during her early years as a special events organizer in LA. It had been her first big break, assisting the more seasoned employees with a Tropical Expressions venue for the latest celebrity-endorsed rum. A combination of too much caffeine and too little sleep had robbed Val of her usual calm. Nerves got the best of her, and she ended up hyperventilating behind the bar when told her special order of blue flamingo glasses was not going to make it in time for the evening gala. Noah had appeared from the storeroom and helped her to a stool just before she went down, gasping and quickly losing her vision. His sweet smile and gentle voice had charmed her, and the sex kept her around for a year or so, but in the end, his passive nature and unwillingness to deal with anything unpleasant drove her off. Or perhaps, much like the next man in her life, she simply got bored with someone who never fought back and always took her worst temper without a word. Then she met Jason.
"Do you remember the first time I met him?"
Standing up to stretch her curvy 5'7" frame, Kylee smiled at her friend. "Who? Jason, you mean? Oh yeah, I remember the first time you guys met. Hell, I don't think anybody within a hundred yard radius of you two forgot that day."
It had been Val's first time as lead event organizer. After four years of business and communications at the University of Washington and then Cal State, three internships with the Event and Planning Department of LA's Hilton Hotels, and two years of doing whatever was asked of her at Ricardo Cache Events, Val had finally landed a client of her own, a hot new German designer who requested Val personally after watching her chew out a late beverage vendor at the spring X-Games promotion on Venice Beach. "You are perfect, mein liebchen," he had told her. "You carry strength with you. Just like my own dear sister."
The following month had been a blur of bright fabrics, dim models, loud DJs and liquor concerns. Right off, Val had picked the perfect place for Günter Rott's premiere West Coast show. "Trust me, Günter," Val had told him over drinks and sushi at Juju's in Malibu. "You want to show everyone in LA that your collection should dress the party. So why not show your stuff at the hottest club there is?" Günter had agreed, and before she knew it, Val was days away from the big event and standing knee-deep in last minute details. Adding to her stress was the arrival of a new assistant, niece of the boss, who was afraid to take on even the smallest problem alone. Also, Kylee had taken some time off her job as an assistant designer and had driven down from San Francisco for a visit. That day, Val had been arguing with the lighting crew when her assistant had stumbled up to her in tears.
"Valerie! Valerie! I need your help."
"For God's sake, Kim, keep your voice down." Turning back to the lighting and sound crew leader, Val had kept her voice as even as possible. "Look, I don't care what kind of problems you're having. The lights are your responsibility and you will get me the correct shade of lavender Günter requested or you will not be receiving the balance of your bill." She had held up her hand in the frustrated worker's face. "I don't want to hear your excuses. Our contract specifically stated the lighting needed for this show. If you don't have it, I suggest you find some hippie out on the strip to stain-glass you a proper lens."
"Valerie, I seriously need your help."
Rolling her eyes at Kylee, busy enjoying the show from her perch on top of the downstairs bar, Val had turned to her assistant. "First, Kim, you need to breathe. Second, call me Val, remember? Third, what's the problem this time?"
Fidgeting with her brick-red bob, Kim had wiped her eyes and clutched her clipboard protectively against her chest. "I'm sorry, Val, but it's the security people."
"Kim, organizing the security is your job. You don't need my help."
"I know, Val, and I'm sorry but he's demanding to see you."
Tapping an impatient pen against her own clipboard, Val had scowled down at Kim. "I don't care who's demanding what. Security is your job, and you will handle it. I don't have time to deal with some muscle-head, I have..."
"Actually, miss," a deep voice had growled from behind her. "You will make the time."
At the unexpected voice behind her, Val had let out a little screech and dropped her clipboard. Fuming, she turned with all intentions of letting loose on the jerk who startled her, only to be stopped by the blackest eyes she had ever seen. Moments passed while Val took in the gold flecks dancing in the almond eyes now regarding her with amusement. "Cat got your tongue?"
Shaking herself, Val squared her shoulders. "I'm just fine, no thanks to you. I take it sneaking up behind people and scaring them half to death is your idea of security?"
The bronze-skinned man standing before her chuckled and crossed well-muscled arms across his broad chest, a tapestry of tattooing and scars decorating the massive appendages. "What makes you think I'm security?"
"I know the answer to this one!" called out Kylee from the bar. "Because you look like a cross between Vin Diesel and Scott Lee?"
Roaring in laughter, the man turned from Val. "Close, sweetheart. My mom's Chinese and my dad's mostly Italian." Turning back to Val, he held out his hand. "The name's Jason. Jason Cattinia. And you are?"
Shooting an icy stare at her friend now reaching under the bar for a second Corona, Val crossed her own arms and pointedly ignored the offered hand. "Valerie Howard. The lush at the bar is Kylee Dorcas and the woman standing to your right is Kim Cache. You will direct all concerns to Kim, as she is in charge of security. Now if you will excuse me, I'm very busy." Turning her back, Val bent over to retrieve her clipboard and was almost knocked off balance by the force of the stinging 'SLAP' that lit her backside.
"You fucking jerk!" Straightening up to meet him, Val swung a hard right hook only to have her hand caught by the grinning Jason. A quick left was similarly caught. "Who the hell do you think you are? Let go of me!"
"Really, Valerie, there's no need for harsh language." Locking both her hands in one of his tattooed paws, the large man brushed a clump of stray hair from her eyes. "I told you, sweetheart, the name's Jason."
"How dare you..." Shaking in anger, Val pulled against the vice-like grip locking her wrists together. "I don't know what you think you're doing, but I am not a woman you want to screw with. Let go of me now!"
Giving a lazy shrug, Jason shot a wink down to the round-eyed and opened-mouthed Kim. "Relax, sweetheart. I offered you my hand and you offered me your butt. No need to snarl." Narrowing his eyes, he drew Val's struggling form a little closer. "There's also no need for kicking," he scolded as she raised her foot. "Unless, of course, you want to spend some time across my knee. Then you can kick all you want."
Waiting for both the fuming woman's peep-toe Milano heels to take solid residence on the club's vinyl flooring before releasing her hands, Jason stepped back and appraised the red-faced creature sputtering and smoothing her hair in front of him. Tall. He loved tall women and this one looked to be about 5'11" in her heels. Not too hard on the eyes either. Honey-tanned skin, big blue eyes, and curves not usually found on a Los Angeles woman... oh yeah. The big guy could just picture her gracing his king-sized bed. Hmm... wonder what it would take to turn that temper sparking in her baby blues into passion? On impulse, he reached out to touch her cheek, and had his hand slapped away.
"You," Val hissed once she found her voice. "You will keep your filthy hands to yourself." Turning on Kim, Val unleashed her embarrassed fury. "And you! You will get yourself out of my sight. I refuse to deal with incompetence."
Kim just continued to stare at Jason.
"Damn you, I said move!"
Val's shout finally broke Kim out of her spell. Looking from Val to Jason, and then back to Val, the petite redhead burst into tears and ran from the bar.
"A little hard on her, don't you think?" Placing his hands on his denim-clad hips, the big man fixed Val with a look usually reserved for shrinking the ego of drunken bar brawlers.
Too bad the blonde staring death at him was a sight harder to scare than a dancehall drunk. Drawing herself up to her full height, Val stepped right up to Jason and got (almost) nose to nose. "It's a little late to be worrying about her feelings, pal. You had a chance to work with Kim and you refused. Now you get to deal with me."
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