Brenda Novak - Dear Maggie

The bag lady’s gaze latched onto her face. “It could happen to you. It could happen to anyone,” she said.

“HE’S WATCHING ME AGAIN. I can feel it.” The hairs on the back of Maggie’s neck stood on end as she peered over the partition that separated the corridor where she stood from her friend Darla’s cubicle. She refused to turn around for fear she’d find herself nose to nose with Nick Sorenson.

Darla, a staff writer for the Entertainment section of the Tribune, frowned and stood up, too.

“Don’t!” Maggie said above the static of the cop radios on her desk a few feet down the corridor, the droning televisions, clacking keyboards and voices that surrounded them on all sides. “Sit back down, or he’ll know I’m talking about him.”

“Relax,” Darla muttered. “He can’t hear us.”

“He can see us!”

“He’s there, all right,” her friend reported. “At the end of the hall, about twelve feet away.” She shook her head. “Ooo la la, he’s gorgeous. But he’s leaving now. Looks like he’s on his way to the photo editor’s desk.”

Maggie seemed to know whenever Nick was around. She could feel his presence, sense his interest. Just after he’d started working for the paper almost three weeks ago, he’d asked her out, and she’d turned him down. A man like him would have no serious interest in a woman like her. She’d learned that lesson the hard way, clear back in high school when Rock Tillman and the other jocks used to throw spit wads at her in class and make fun of her braces, her acne, her red hair, even the heavy load of books she toted everywhere. Her appearance had changed considerably since then, but one failed marriage later, the girl inside remained the same, right down to her contempt for cocky hard-bodies who thought the world should bow at their feet for the price of a wink or a grin.

Fortunately, when she’d refused his offer, Nick hadn’t pressed the issue. Every once in a while, she’d look up to see him watching her, usually from a distance. Only he didn’t turn away or smile when she caught him. He wore his devil-may-care disposition like a leather jacket and studied her with thick-lashed tawny eyes as though…as though he desired her. Which was unsettling enough. Add to that the obvious strength of his tall, athletic body and her own small size in comparison, and he made her nervous as hell.

“What do you think he wants with me?” she asked.

Darla chewed her lip and squinted in the direction Nick had gone. “You know what he wants. He wants a date.”

Maggie braved a quick glance over her shoulder to find the hallway empty. “If I thought that was all he wanted, I’d probably go out with him. Lord knows he wouldn’t want a second date, so I’d be rid of him. But I’m afraid he wants to forego the date and get right down to business. He looks like the type who’s had a lot of experience, which definitely puts him out of my league.”

Darla raised her brows. “That can’t be all he wants. Practically every available woman in this office has made a play for him, but he treats them all the same, with a hands-off, don’t-approach-me attitude. And I’ve seen him treat Susie with something closer to contempt.”

Maggie shrugged. “Oh well, we can’t hold that against him. Who doesn’t treat Susie with contempt? She’s slept with every guy in the office. Even the publisher.”

Leaning an elbow on the partition, Darla propped her chin on her hand. “Maybe you should tell Frank that Nick makes you nervous.”

“No, I don’t want to bring his boss in on this. I don’t really have anything to accuse him of. What do I say, ‘Nick’s looking at me.’? He’ll think I’m a sexual-harassment case just waiting to happen. Half the time I think I’m imagining it myself.”

“Maybe your job’s getting to you. Listening to all those cop radios and working at night is creepy.”

“A cop reporter is supposed to report on crime,” Maggie retorted. “How would I know what was happening without my radios?”

“Don’t you like this better? You should thank Jorge for taking the day off and trading shifts with you. Look at the sun shining outside. During the day you don’t have to worry about simple things like walking to your car.”

“Jorge didn’t take the day off for my benefit. He’s having knee surgery. Besides, you know how hard it is to get a start in this industry. I’m lucky to be where I am.”

Darla stooped for her handbag, her fake nails clicking against its contents as she rummaged through it. A minute later, she pulled out some red lipstick, liberally applied it, then tossed the tube back where she’d found it. Her purse followed with a soft thud. “So what about that murder last week? You still think that’s your big story?”

“Yeah. But there’s definitely something strange going on with that.”

“Do the police know who did it yet?”

“No, and they’re being very tight-lipped. They’ve given me a press release with a few pat quotes, but they’re holding back. I can tell. There’s something about this case they don’t want me to know.” She smiled. “So, of course I’m going to dig until I find out what it is.”

Darla grimaced and ran her nails through her long blond hair. “Well, don’t feel obligated to share the details with me once you discover them. I, for one, have heard enough about the poor woman in that Dumpster. Everything about that crime is sickening and proves my point that nothing good happens after midnight.”

Nick Sorenson walked by, and Darla’s gaze followed him.

“That is, nothing good happens after midnight unless you’re spending the night with him,” she mouthed after he’d passed.

Maggie noted Nick’s long, confident strides, and fought her own appreciation. “Looks do not make a man,” she said to remind herself as much as Darla. “Jeez, you really have a thing for him, don’t you? Too bad he doesn’t ask you out.”

Her friend gave her a wicked smile. “Too bad is right. There’s that dangerous glitter in his eyes, you know? And there’s the scar on his temple and the way his hair falls across his forehead, like he doesn’t care how he looks. And yet he still manages to look better than chocolate.” The audible breath she took did even more to express her admiration. “What a package. And he’s intense. I can tell.”

Maggie raised a doubtful brow. “‘Heartbreaker’ is written all over him, along with ‘catch me if you can.’ I’m not up to the challenge.” She’d spent too much time and energy carefully building her self-esteem to risk losing it on a man like Nick.

“You only think that because you’re a single mom. Single moms can’t be too careful.”

“True.”

“Should I ask him why he’s been staring at you?”

Maggie raised a hand. “No, don’t embarrass me.”

“All right. He probably just thinks you’re attractive, anyway. What man doesn’t?”

“Sometimes it’s very apparent that you haven’t known me long,” Maggie said. “But just for starters, what about Tim?”

“He married you, didn’t he? And let’s face it, in the end, you left him.”

A call blared across one of Maggie’s radios. Instinctively she tensed, listening to the dispatcher’s gravelly voice, then relaxed when she realized it was only a 5150—the call for a crazy person doing something stupid but certainly not news-worthy.

“I had to leave Tim,” she responded to Darla. “If it weren’t for Zach, I probably would’ve hung on, forever grateful that he’d deigned to marry me in the first place. But my son deserves a father who wants him.” She sighed heavily. “Provided I can ever find him one.”

“So that’s what’s happening.” Darla’s expression softened. “The singles scene has finally gotten you down. Is that it?”