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“Well, here’s the catch. He wants the third piece to be an original. Something never published before. I think if you can take this story to the next level it would be perfect.”
The next level?
“Do you know who my competition might be?”
There was a long pause that made Allie’s throat go dry.
“I’m not going to lie to you. Chris Dougal is looking for a full time job and he’s working on this big illegal immigration piece. It’s effect on the Florida economy, that kind of stuff.”
In other words, serious stuff. The kind of stuff Ben loved. If it sold magazines, that is. Ben Gallagher was all about the bottom line. Chris Dougal had written several books on Florida politics. Boring stuff, to be sure. Stuff that didn’t sell so well, but he had the kind of credentials that gave Ben an editorial hard on. If Chris could write a story that would interest their readers enough to buy magazines then Allie was toast. Burned. To a crackly crunch.
She now knew exactly what Emma meant by the next level. This ghost story needed to be the best thing she’d ever written. Even better than the Perky the Duck story, which seemed near to impossible. Chasing this bogus ghost story to please Emma
Frazier was one thing, but having her career ride on it was something altogether different.
“Here’s the thing, I can find another story to write. As a matter of fact, before you sent me that anonymous email and I was doing research for a piece on the history of St. Augustine and I think—”
Emma moaned. “St. Augustine has already been done. One too many times as far as I’m concerned. No, I really think this ghost story is so you. And the magazine has never done anything like it before, so it will be fresh.”
“But—”
“I guarantee you,” Emma continued, “If you can take this ghost story and wring the emotion out of it—get it to really zing—then I’m positive I can swing Ben to your side.”
Allie had no choice. If she wanted to elevate this story to the next level, to make it zing, as Emma said, she was going to have to make this story personal. Which meant she was going to have to experience this “ghost” for herself. Which meant she needed to keep this building from coming down. Which meant…she was going to have to throw herself at the mercy of The Person In Charge. Who, number one, didn’t believe in ghosts, number two, was on a schedule, and number three, was the last person on earth Allie wanted to ask for a favor.
She didn’t get it. She was a good person. She smiled at strangers, didn’t cheat on her taxes, and recycled religiously. So how could fate be this cruel? In all her Tom Donalan fantasies, he was the one begging her for something. Not the other way around.
Twelve years ago, for one glorious summer, Tom Donalan had been Allie’s first boyfriend. Her first love. Her first…everything. Although technically, he was never her first lover because they never actually “did it”. It was not, however, for her lack of trying.
She’d wanted in Tom Donalan’s pants. Badly.
Not that she’d been one of those girls. Just the opposite. At eighteen, Allie had been a complete dork. She’d been on the volleyball team and the swim team and a pretty decent student but she’d never been one of the popular girls. She’d never even kissed a guy before Tom, unless you counted playing spin the bottle at Julie Howard’s end-of-the-year eighth grade party.
Tom, on the other hand, had been the kind of guy every girl dreamed of when she imagined her first big love. Handsome, smart, funny, kind. By senior year, he’d been practically a Whispering Bay High legend. There wasn’t anything he couldn’t do better than anyone else. Star quarterback, starting pitcher for the baseball team, senior class president, Merit Scholar. All the guys wanted to be him. And all the girls wanted to be with him.
When he’d singled Allie out that first week of AP chemistry as his lab partner, she’d been flattered. And nervous and flustered. But they had quickly become genuine friends. Tom was the only other person Allie knew who loved Star Wars as much as she did. Even Buela adored him, and Buela wasn’t the type of woman who’d been easily fooled.
Then, one day out of the blue, something spectacular happened. Tom’s steady girlfriend, Lauren Handy, broke up with him.
Lauren Handy had been the female version of Tom. With long blonde hair, terrific boobs and a tight butt, she had most of the male population of Whispering Bay High salivating after her. And the crappy thing was, she was nice. So you couldn’t even hate her. They were the dream couple (gag). They were supposed to be Prom King and Queen. But the day after the senior awards banquet, a mere week before prom, Lauren dumped Tom cold.
Allie had spun by his house the instant she’d heard the news, ready to console him with her best friend shtick, which in those days consisted of a swiped six pack of beer from Zeke’s refrigerator and a shoulder to lean on.
But instead of being upset, Tom was relieved (or so he had said). They then proceeded to watch the full Star Wars trilogy on his parent’s brand new DVD player and down the beers (and no, Tom’s parents weren’t home). Sometime after the second beer Tom asked Allie to be his prom date.
Her! Allison Isabel Grant, the too tall girl with no boobs, was going to prom with Tom Donalan, the guy every girl in their senior class dreamed of. It was almost too good to be true. Which should have been her First Big Clue.
So Tom and Allie went to prom, a night that ended in her first real kiss. Which then led to an entire summer where they were joined at the hips, or the lips, or whatever other body part they had pressed against one another. When they weren’t working at their summer jobs trying to save money for college, they were at the beach, or at his parent’s house watching movies, or finding places to go make out.
Their favorite make out spot had been the back seat of Tom’s nineteen eighty-seven Crown Victoria, which they’d park along the end of the bay bridge. But just about any place they could be alone would do. It was during one of those make out sessions that The Great Humiliation Part One happened.
*~*~*
They were naked, all alone in an empty house, huddled beneath the covers of Tom’s too small twin-sized bed. Allie was trying to be quiet (just in case his parents came home unexpectedly), but it was impossible. Tom’s fingers were nestled between her thighs, doing something Allie had never even thought of on her own. Where had he learned to do that?
“Don’t stop,” Allie moaned. The words were no sooner out of her mouth that she realized she didn’t want him to stop at all. As in, she wanted him to take the next step. As in, the big step. “Tom, please, just do me.”
Oh. My. God. Did she say that out loud?
