Authors: Nan Ryan
At ten o’clock, Sullivan led them into the news, flipped off the mikes and rose. He exited the control room without a word to Kay.
Kay remained for a moment in her chair. When she stood up, she’d made up her mind. Nodding absently to Ace Black, who’d just come in to do his midday trick, Kay went directly to her office and called New York. That done, she rose, took a deep breath and walked with cool determination down the long corridor to Sullivan’s office.
She knocked on his door and stepped inside as soon as he called out. “Sullivan,” she said immediately, “I need a couple of days off from work.” His dark, penetrating eyes slowly lifted from the papers spread out on his desk. Kay met his gaze. “For personal reasons, I need to miss work on Monday and Tuesday mornings.” She stood looking at him, her hands clasped in front of her, waiting for him to ask her why she needed the time off.
“Sure, Kay.” He surprised her. “I see no problem.”
“Sullivan, the reason I want—”
“You need not explain,” he said dismissively. “You haven’t missed a day. You’re entitled.” The eyes lowered back to the papers on his desk.
“Thank you,” Kay said, cleared her throat needlessly and added, “Ah, Sullivan, I was wondering if I could come by your place this evening and—and pick up my things.”
“By all means,” he answered without raising his head.
Kay told herself she had to be the world’s biggest fool, or at least the world’s biggest optimist, as she painstakingly dressed that night to go to Sullivan’s apartment. She’d called and gotten his permission to come by around seven to collect her personal items.
Now, while she brushed her long, shiny, freshly shampooed hair, Kay felt tingles of excitement and hope. Perhaps when she arrived and they were once again alone inside his apartment, he’d weaken and ask her to stay. She’d fling herself right into his arms and breathlessly proclaim she’d never be out of his sight again.
Kay, wanting to appear casual yet appealing, appraised the soft, clinging sweater of pale blue, its low neckline revealing smooth creamy flesh. A small gold coin on a delicate link chain rested in the valley of her breasts. Her tight designer jeans hugged her rounded hips and small waist. Kay grabbed a gray wool jacket and hurried down to her Porsche, heart beginning to speed pleasantly.
Half an hour later she stood outside Sullivan’s door. When she’d rung his buzzer downstairs in the outer lobby, he’d answered promptly, as though he might be as eager as she. Anticipation rising, Kay was smiling when Sullivan flung open his heavy front door.
The smile froze on her face.
“Hi,” he said evenly, looking down on her from lazy-lidded eyes. “Come in.”
“Hello.” Kay tried very hard to keep the flatness from her voice. Expecting him to greet her in a pair of faded jeans and perhaps a sweater, or even shirtless, Kay stared at the tall, elegantly tailored man wearing a dark, expensive suit, a white shirt and a patterned tie of smooth silk. Shiny black Italian leather shoes looked as though they’d been freshly polished. Gold cuff links glittered at his wrists and his unruly, thick black hair was neatly brushed back off his dark face. He was, obviously, dressed to go out for the evening.
“I…I’ll hurry,” Kay offered lamely, feeling her cheeks splotching with crimson. “You must be in a hurry and…”
Sullivan smiled, took the empty suitcase from her hand and set it on the carpet, stepped behind her and took her coat. “No hurry,” he said from above her ear. “I’ve a dinner engagement, but not for an hour.”
“Good,” she said, fighting the urge to fly at him and beat on the broad white-shirted chest. How she longed to reach up and muss all that thick black hair, to jerk the perfect knot from his silk tie, to shout at him that he could not go out looking so devastatingly handsome, that she simply would not allow it. “I’ll not be long,” she assured him and started down the hall to his bedroom.
“You know where everything is,” he said politely and made no move to follow her.
Kay was glad. She was terrified that he’d see the shaking of her hands as she went about packing up her things. She needn’t have worried. She stepped into his big bedroom and saw that all of her clothes had been neatly stacked on his bed, ready to be packed.
Three warm winter nightgowns that she’d never had on were the first items she saw. With a wince, she vividly recalled that first night here when she’d drawn one of the soft, fleecy gowns from a bureau drawer and Sullivan had laughed at her, snatched it from her hands and said teasingly, “In my bed, honey, you won’t be needing this. I’ll keep you plenty warm.”
Face flaming, Kay gathered the unused nighties, several pairs of lacy panties, a couple of sweaters and some bras from the bed, shoving them all together with hurried, jerky movements.
“After I so carefully folded everything.” Sullivan’s deep voice gently scolded from the doorway where he stood, empty gray suitcase in his hand, leaning against the wooden frame. He pushed away from the door, stepped forward and placed the case on the bed, bending to unzip it and fold back the top.
Kay, wondering how long she could hold back her feelings, said weakly, “I’m in a bit of a hurry. I’ll straighten everything out when I get home.” She dumped everything into the open suitcase while he stood, nodding. In seconds everything that belonged to her had been stuffed haphazardly into the bag, blouses and skirts and jeans still on their hangers. “That’s it,” she announced breathlessly.
She felt like screaming when he calmly said, “Not quite.”
Into the bathroom he strode, returning with several toothbrushes clutched in one hand. Kay gritted her teeth, grabbed them from him and jerked the loaded luggage from his bed. Past him she flew, but easily he caught up to her.
“I’ll carry it down to the car for you, Kay,” he said, taking the heavy case from her.
“That’s not necessary.” She heard the shrillness of her voice, knew she was near losing all composure.
“I’ll do it.” He was adamant. “Get your coat.”
Kay was in no mood to argue. They spoke not another word and when Sullivan had hoisted the heavy bag into the trunk of Kay’s red car, Kay, already behind the wheel, didn’t bother to say goodbye or thank you. She started the engine and roared away, shooting a look up at the rearview mirror to see a tall, handsome man caught in the glow of her tail-lights. His wide shoulders seemed to slump as he turned and went back up the steps of the towering building.
Janelle Davis rubbed her temples. She pulled out her middle desk drawer, looking for an aspirin. The constant noise coming from the office next to hers was beginning to wear on her nerves.
It was Wednesday afternoon. Sullivan had been furiously chinning himself on the high steel rod off and on since shortly after ten o’clock. This was the third consecutive day of hearing him heave and blow and raise himself repeatedly up to the bar. The third day of hearing him crash to the floor, exhausted, only to return not ten minutes later for another prolonged session of strenuous chinning.
Janelle knew full well what was bothering him. Rumors were rampant throughout the Denver radio community. Sherry had wasted little time in spreading the word that ABC in New York had called Kay Clark with a job offer in mind. Janelle shook a couple of aspirins into her upturned palm, shook her head and wished it were Kay Clark—not the aspirin—that she was shaking.
A great crashing noise from next door preceded the sound of Sullivan’s office shower being turned on full blast. Janelle rolled her eyes and wondered if this would be his last shower of the day. She looked at the small leather-covered clock on the corner of her desk. It was four o’clock. No, there’d be at least one more shower after this one if he went home at his usual hour of six.
The week dragged for Kay. Yet it flew past much too fast. All week she’d clung to a thread of hope that Sullivan would turn to her behind the control panel and say, “Don’t go, honey. Please stay with me.” Or that he’d come to her apartment. Or that he’d call her on the phone and tell her that he wanted her back at his place where she belonged.
As the days passed and her trip to New York approached, Kay began to sadly face the facts. He was not going to stop her. He was going to let her fly up to New York, be interviewed by ABC and accept should they offer her a job. She’d painted herself right into a corner and there was no way she could get out.
It was Friday. The day she was to leave. The morning show went smoothly. Ten o’clock came quickly and afterward, Sullivan and Kay spent a couple of hours in the production studio, cutting commercials for a shoe company. The commercial spots were written by a clever copywriter. They were meant to be humorous and they were. So funny were the lines each was to say, Sullivan and Kay kept breaking up and having to stop the tape and start over. A taping that was supposed to take no longer than thirty minutes stretched into well over two hours.
Neither minded. They were having too much fun and for a time both forgot that on this very day, Kay would leave for the big city. They were doing what they loved best with the person they loved doing it with and everything else was unimportant.
Finally the commercial spots were completed, the laughter had subsided and Kay, sliding down off the tall stool where she’d been sitting next to Sullivan, looked at the clock and said, “I’ve got packing to do, so I’ll go.”
“Oh, sure,” Sullivan said easily, “run on along.”
“Thanks,” she said softly.
“Don’t mention it.” He turned to leave, but she laid a hand on his arm. His dark head swung around and he faced her.
Swallowing her pride, Kay looked up at the dear, handsome face and murmured ever so softly, “I’m going tonight, Sul, but until that plane takes off—” The rest was left unsaid. Tears were threatening to spill and she could no longer trust her voice. Sullivan’s eyes were as hard and cold as polished onyx. His tall, lean body was tensed and ungiving.
Kay knew it was hopeless.
Sullivan’s jaw tightened. “Good luck, Kay,” he said, turned away and hurried out of the production studios.
Her heart breaking, Kay followed him from the room and left the station.
Sullivan went directly to his office, closed the door and walked to the chinning bar. Shortly after three in the afternoon, after several sessions of his incessant chinning and two showers, and with another headache starting behind her eyes, Janelle Davis knocked on Sullivan’s door.
Not waiting for an answer, she stepped inside, closed the door and leaned back, her arms folded across her chest. Sullivan, shirtless, perspiration glistening on his shoulders and in his hair, lowered himself to the floor.
“She leaves on United’s 7:00 p.m. flight for New York.” Janelle looked straight into his eyes. Sullivan said nothing. “I checked,” Janelle continued, “there’s seats available.” She smiled at the silent Sullivan, turned and left without another word.
Kay, looking cool and sophisticated in a well-tailored suit of cream wool, brown silk blouse with its mandarin collar fitted tightly around her long, elegant neck, silver hair plaited into a thick coil and pinned atop her head, stepped into the first-class cabin of the New-York-bound jetliner.
Smiling absently to the stewardess who took her ticket, Kay located seat 3A and took the four steps down the aisle toward it, glancing around at the few passengers already seated. A middle-aged couple sat in the front two seats, the woman already reaching inside a big, floppy bag to pull out her knitting. Behind them, two tired-looking businessmen, one already dozing, held briefcases on their laps.
In the last row of seats, a pair of long legs encased in gray flannel slacks was crossed beneath a copy of the
Wall Street Journal
, which covered the face of its absorbed reader.
Kay took her window seat, buckled the belt tightly and fought the foolish fear already clawing at her stomach. Heartache was temporarily forgotten as passengers boarded, the front door was locked and Kay felt the movement of the big plane beginning to taxi out toward the runway. Palms perspiring, heart fluttering, Kay paid no attention to the stewardess’s canned speech.
Checking one last time to be certain that her seat belt was as tight as she could get it, Kay licked dry lips and gripped the armrests as the big jet turned onto the runway and she felt the dreadful roar of the powerful engines drowning out all other sound.
Eyes wide with fright, Kay looked out the tiny window, her small body tensed, her fingers curling over the chair arms in a death grip. Just as the heavy plane began to speed ever faster down the runway, evenly spaced blue ground lights sliding past the window so rapidly they were becoming a blur, Kay’s head snapped around.
A lean brown hand gently covered a white-knuckled one upon the armrest and Sullivan Ward buckled his seat belt with his other hand. Kay blinked at him in confusion that changed almost immediately to relief.
“I seem to recall you being a little nervous on the takeoff.” His deep, soothing voice had never sounded more wonderful to Kay. Sullivan plucked tight little fingers up from the chair arm, bringing her cold, stiff hand up to the warmth of his sweatered chest. Both his hands closed over hers and when she swallowed and tried to speak, Sullivan leaned close and said, smiling understandingly, “Darling, wait until we’re up, then we’ll say it all.” Dark eyes caressed her and he added, “You’re safe, sweetheart. I’m here with you. Everything will be fine.”
A soft little gasp escaped Kay’s parted lips. Blue eyes thanking him, Kay leaned her grateful head on his shoulder, took a deep breath and heard the captain saying from the cockpit, “On the climb out, you can see the lights of the Mile High City twinkling up at you just as we skim the very peaks of the Rockies rising to a height of fourteen thousand feet above sea level.”
Kay smiled. She made no move to look out her window at the lights the captain spoke of. She looked instead into the shining dark eyes of the man clinging to her hand.
Sullivan was smiling down at her and Kay felt her fear of flying evaporate. If she remained a little short of breath, it no longer had anything to do with fear. It was pure, unexpected happiness.