Jack Kilborn: Endurance

“Hello.”

The voice startled her, and she turned around. Mr. Flirt was in her personal space, less than a foot away from her, a sly grin on his face. Deb noted his breath smelled like cinnamon, and he was even cuter up close. Strong chin with a bit of stubble. A roman nose. Neatly cut hair, dark and parted on the side. Sort of like a younger George Clooney.

“Can I help you?” Deb’s voice came out clipped, and a bit squeaky.

“Are you Debra Novachek?”

“Who wants to know?”

“Mal Deiter. Sporting Digest. My office has been in touch.”

He offered his hand.

So he’s not a flirt. He’s a reporter. Which means he knows about my legs.

Deb didn’t know if that made it less awkward, or more awkward. For some reason, she had pictured a woman interviewing her. Or some pudgy old man. Not someone good-looking.

Good-looking guys made her nervous.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Deiter.” She took his hand and shook it hard, businesslike, then quickly pulled away. “They seem to be having some trouble finding me a room here.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“If you’re really sorry, you can give me your room.”

“I would, Ms. Novachek, if I had one. But I’m already doubled up with my photographer.” He pointed to a portly man with a very large camera in his hands, shooting people in the lobby. “That’s Rudy. Great talent, but a terrible roommate. He snores so loudly he can loosen your fillings. I’m going to wind up on the lobby sofa if I want to get any rest tonight.”

He smiled, and it was a dynamite smile. Deb wondered why he worked for a magazine when he had a face for TV. She decided against asking, not wanting to compliment him and risk it sounding like a come-on.

Not that Deb could even remember what it was like coming on to a guy.

The manager returned. “The Rushmore Inn does have a few rooms left for tonight. I took the liberty of making you a reservation and drawing you a map. We’re also covering the cost of your room there. It will be free of charge.”

Deb bit back thanking him, instead saying, “I have a GPS. I don’t need a map.”

He pushed the paper toward her. “It’s really out of the way. I doubt the Inn, or even the road, is on the GPS.”

“How long will it take to get there?”

“An hour. Maybe an hour and a half at the most.”

Deb clenched her jaw. Her mood worsened when she saw the cute reporter furtively eyeing her legs.

She slapped her hand on the map and picked it up.

“Again, we really apologize for this inconvenience.” The manager smiled, but this time it seemed more cruel than sympathetic. “I hope to see y’all tomorrow, Miss Novachek.”

Deb raised an eye at the manager’s sarcastic tone. She let it slide, instead turning to the reporter.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Deiter. This isn’t going to work.”

“Call me Mal.”

“Mal, I know we were going to do the interview tonight over dinner, but I won’t have time. It seems I just lost three hours.”

“You still have to eat, don’t you?”

“Hopefully I can pick something up on the way to the inn. I didn’t figure on an extra ninety minute drive tonight.”

The fat photographer, Rudy, had come over and was snapping Deb’s picture. This annoyed her. She hadn’t checked her hair, or her make-up.

Not that they want pictures of my face. My face isn’t the reason for the interview.

“Ms. Novachek, this is Rudy.”

“Ma’am.” Rudy held out a chubby hand. It was moist when Deb shook it.

“Nice to meet you, Rudy, but it looks like you guys will have to find some other subject for your story.”

“We’ve got other subjects,” Rudy said. “But you’re the big one. You came first in your age group in the Denver Triathlon, and third overall. You’re a tremendous athlete, Ms. Novachek. Especially considering the loss of your legs. I’ve heard you have different prosthetic legs for each part of the event. Do you have some with fins for the swimming portion?”

Rudy was talking loud enough to attract the attention of others in the room. Deb felt every eye on her, but managed to keep her voice steady.

“I don’t wear my legs for the swimming portion. I wouldn’t want anyone to think I had an unfair advantage. And now if you’ll excuse me.”

Deb shoved the map into her fanny pack and began to walk away from the counter.

“But we want you for the cover...” Rudy said.

She willed herself not to run. These weren’t her running legs, and it was easy to catch her toes on things. The thought of the fat guy snapping her photo when she was flat on her face was too much to bear.

“Ms. Novachek... please...”

The reporter was next to her, his expression concerned.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Deiter—”

“Mal.”

“—I’m simply not going to have time.”

“I could ride with you to the inn. He said the Rushmore, right? I was actually going to take a cab there, anyway. That’s where the Pillsburys are staying. They’re my other interview.”

“I only have a two seater.”

“It would just be me. Rudy will stay here. He’s actually a nice guy. A bit blunt, but not a mean bone in his body. I hope he didn’t offend you.”

“Not at all.”

That was the truth. Nothing offended Deb these days. And she prided herself that she was also beyond embarrassment. Since she lost her legs, Deb had gotten so accustomed to her condition that she was mostly oblivious to other people’s reaction to her. Hell, when she jogged around town, she often stopped to let kids touch her running prosthetics.

So why am I so anxious to get away right now?

She knew the reason.

It’s because he’s attractive. Talking to handsome guys makes me feel inferior, inadequate.

Incomplete.

But am I strong enough to deal with it?

Deb took a calming breath, let it out slow.

Yes. Yes I am.

“Please, Ms. Novachek. I feel like we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot...”

Deb stopped and shot him a look. He seemed confused for a moment, and then he turned such a bright shade of red she thought he might pop.

“Oh... jeez... look, I really didn’t mean to say foot ...”

She let him squirm for a moment, because he was cute doing so. Then she let him off the hook.

“It’s okay. I put my foot in my mouth all the time. Want to see me take it off and do it right now?”

He looked mortified, then noticed her grin and burst out laughing.

Deb allowed herself a small smile. It felt pretty good.

“Ms. Novachek, I have a feeling this is going to be a great interview.”

Deb had that feeling too. “Call me Deb.”

“Thank you, Deb.” He offered his hand again.

This time, when she took it, she didn’t squeeze as hard. Or pull away as fast.

“Look, Deb, I don’t want to impose, but the desk clerk said they had several rooms, and since all of my interviews are at the same inn, it makes sense for me to stay there as well. Do you mind if I grab my suitcase from my room? I know you’re in a hurry but I haven’t even unpacked yet. It’ll just take a second.”

“Sure, Mal. I’m parked right outside the lobby. It’s the red Corvette.”

“Thanks. I’ll be two minutes, tops.”

He gently disengaged his hand, then quickly walked over to Rudy and exchanged a few words. Deb turned to go to her car and caught a glimpse of the manager again. He was looking straight at her, and seemed to be saying something.

To me?

No. He was talking on the phone. He smiled at her, then shot her with his thumb and index finger.

Asshole.

Deb turned, slow and easy, and headed through the lobby, to the revolving doors.