Jan Freed - Talk To Me

Had his ex-wife possibly meant to comfort him instead of belittle his real worries about the future?

Uh-uh. No way, José. Did not compute. Nice try, but no bananas.

She’d had no interest at all in helping him establish a fishing camp on the shores of Lake Kimberly. It was as simple as that. They’d been as mismatched as caviar and catfish bait, their marriage doomed from the start.

Of all the females he’d never understood—which at age thirty-four was a hell of a long list—Travis had never understood Kara Taylor the most.

Men, on the other hand, were an open book. As proof, he’d developed Bass Busters Fishing Camp into a thriving operation.

An elbow in his ribs jabbed Travis into the present.

“Man, can you believe this?” Jake muttered, gesturing to the stage. “The Simpsons meet The Munsters.”

Travis checked out the teenage couple sitting next to Bill and Dorothy, and felt his lips twitch.

The big brawny dude wore black jeans, a black T-shirt and black biker boots. He had massive shoulders, a low ridged forehead and a flat-top haircut. Put bolts in his neck and he could pass for Herman Munster’s little brother. The girl’s long black hair, flowing black dress and cadaver-pale face with heavily lined eyes made a fitting match.

Vanessa spoke from the center aisle. “Since we heard from Dorothy first, last time, let’s start now with you, Terrence. Tell us why Tiffany doesn’t understand you.”

Travis and Jake shared an incredulous look.

“Terrence?” Jake mouthed silently.

“Tiffany?” Travis mouthed back.

They both snorted at the incongruous names.

“She’s always puttin’ me down, man. and then acts all hurt when I say so. Like, the other night at Sonic? They’ve got this deal where if you don’t get your order delivered in fifteen minutes, you get it free?

“So I’m keepin’ an eye on my watch, ya know? The waitress skates up with our burgers, and I tell her she’s five minutes late. But Tiffany, she says—real load—that I’m wrong and the food’s not late. And everybody’s car windows are down for the trays.”

Travis winced in sympathy.

“Why doesn’t she just scream ‘Loser’ to my face?” Terrence asked the audience.

“Oh, puh-leez!” Tiffany rolled her eyes, a startlingly melodramatic sight given her heavy make-up. “Your watch was fast. Kim wasn’t late. She gets in trouble if she gives out too many coupons in a night.”

“Whose side are you on? Hers or mine?”

“That’s stupid. You’re my boyfriend. I’m always on your side.”

“Then why did you put me down?”

“I didn’t put you down. I helped out a friend!”

“See? You’re on her side.”

Tiffany let out a frustrated shriek, lifted her hands and strangled an invisible neck.

As the women in the audience laughed, Vanessa moved to the section opposite Travis and Jake.

“Who has a comment?” she asked, weaving into the crowd. “Yes, sir, tell us your name and what’s on your mind.”

A short, balding man stood and thrust out his chin. “Harold Stokes. And I think if she was really on his side, she wouldn’t have contradicted him in public.”

“Thank you, Harold.” Vanessa moved closer to the stage. “The men are all nodding again. Let’s get a female point of view. Ah, there’s a woman of experience. Hang on, I’m coming. Okay, what’s your name?”

The sound of amplified breathing filled the auditorium.

“Don’t be shy, dear. We’re all friends.”

Travis’s gaze sought the closest monitor—and widened.

Good grief! He’d recognize that sweet face surrounded by immovable gray curls anywhere.

Esther Taylor stood frozen in the spotlight, prime for gigging or a truck bumper in her gut. She eyed the extended microphone as if it were a hand grenade with the pin pulled.

The audience started to mumble and snicker.

Move on to someone else. Don’t prolong the old girl’s misery.

Esther sat abruptly, yanked down by an unseen force, and a mint-julep voice spoke. “I’ll comment, if you’d like.”

Travis’s heart sputtered like a flooded outboard motor. Even before the camera moved, he knew.

“Wonderful! Stand up and tell us your name.”

Of all the crazy rotten luck

“Kara Taylor. And the lady who just sat and will kill herself when we get home is your biggest fan—Esther Taylor, my grandmother.”

Travis stared at the tall elegant woman who’d disarmed the restless audience as quickly and easily as she’d once entranced him.

Her generous curves were disguised by a severe navy jacket and skirt, her only accessory a dainty necklace. Her glorious platinum-blond hair was tortured into some sort of do only women liked. Her bewitching green eyes were underscored by shadowed half moons of fatigue.

Together they formed the heartbreaking beauty he hadn’t seen in nine years. His ex-wife. The woman who had, in fact, broken his heart—and had the incredible gall now to wear the heart pendant he’d given her to celebrate their first-year anniversary.

The same occasion she’d ended their marriage for good.

CHAPTER TWO

K ARA WONDERED when the prickles at her hairline would drip tears of sweat for all of America—and Travis—to see. The spotlight was incredibly hot... both literally and figuratively.

“So tell us, Kara, what do you think about Terrence’s claim that Tiffany always puts him down?” Vanessa tipped her microphone.

Esther Taylor would expect a ladylike answer. But Kara figured Gram owed her. “Well, I don’t know what Tiffany ‘always’ does. But what she did at Sonic was act in a mature, caring and responsible way that had nothing to do with anyone but the waitress. I think Terrence needs to grow up,” Kara said bluntly.

A smattering of applause broke out from some of the women in the audience, along with a few grumbles from the men.

Vanessa perked up at the scent of a lively debate. “Them thar’s fightin’ words, Kara. Can you define the phrase grow up?”

Where to start, that was the harder question. “Let’s backtrack to Bill and Dorothy,” Kara began. “He said she doesn’t respect his feelings, yet he doesn’t supply her with any clues as to what they are. So she prods and probes and shares her own feelings in hopes he’ll cough up some of his. Which of course, he doesn’t.

“After all, that would be the mature thing to do. Instead, he expects her to read his mind, then pouts like a three-year-old when she isn’t psychic.”

The spontaneous applause and grumbles were louder than before.

Vanessa held up a quieting hand. “Danny?” She searched the auditorium and located the stage manager. “I want to stay with Kara a minute. Can you work that side of the room for the male point of view?”

He nodded and moved toward the back row.

Vanessa’s gaze returned to Kara. “And Terrence ? How was his behavior immature?”

Blocking out the camera and her grandmother’s distressed gaze, Kara concentrated on the gleam of encouragement in Vanessa’s eyes.

“First of all, he seems to think the world revolves around him. As if everyone at Sonic was more interested in what he was doing than in eating their fries. I mean, get real. That’s so arrogant, so typically male.

“And so what if everyone did hear Tiffany correct him about the time?” Kara continued, picking up steam. “I’ve got a news flash for him. His watch was fast and he was wrong. But did he apologize to the waitress? No-o, that would’ve been the mature thing to do.

“Instead, he got mad at Tiffany and accused her of embarrassing him in public. Because, bottom line, most men don’t care if they’re actually right or not. The only important thing to them is that other people think they are!”