1

"YOU, MS. TAMARA CLARKSON, need some booty."

At the cheeky words, Tam laughed and turned away from her computer keyboard. Normally she used it to enter information into the Dillard Marketing database as part of her temporary gig. But right now there were no assignments on her desk, so she'd been covertly scribbling down a new personal budget that she would never complete anyway, what with her being the mistress of beginning-many-projects-but-hardly-ever-finishing-them.

The speaker, Danica Langston, was wiggling her eyebrows in mischief while leaning against Tam's cubicle. The mild sunshine of a San Francisco September afternoon breathed through the windows and dusted her coworker's dark skin.

This was Tam's first temp job in her new home city. Since being assigned to Dillard two weeks ago, she and Danica had become friends, mainly by bonding through the curse of being single women in the city. Over lunch, they would complain about men and then look out the window to people-watch the nine-to-fivers strolling along the sidewalks of the Financial District. It was a daily ritual—except for Mondays. Danica never failed to disappear that day, always claiming an "essential meeting."

So Danica's next words came as a surprise. "Ready for a lunch break?"

Tam raised an eyebrow. "No meeting today?"

"Sure, but you're coming with me this time." Danica motioned for Tam to get out of her chair. "I've got some friends I want you to meet. Then we'll grab some quick grub afterward and bring it back up here."

From booty to networking. What a segue. Intrigued, Tam closed her computer program and gathered her purse. She hadn't met many people in the city yet, so this was a good opportunity. Aside from the anything-but-shy Danica, the Dillard dungeon didn't seem to hire many outgoing individuals.

Yup, it was tough to make friends here. Bummer, since all Tam wanted to do since she'd moved to San Fran from her family home in Vegas was to start fresh. Here, in a city teeming with good vibes, she could finally ditch all the temp work and find the job she was meant for. Then she could earn enough money for a place of her very own—one she could decorate and celebrate her freedom in. And Tam was optimistic that she would accomplish at least the job part by next summer.

Freedom, she thought. San Francisco, with its hippy history and open-air poetry, was just the place to discover it.

Liar, said a little voice inside. You want security. You can tell yourself you'd love to be free all you want, but it isn't the answer. You try to crave it because you think it means you don't need anyone, and that way you'll never feel rejection again.

Freedom is just a lie for you….

Tam knew that voice. It was the whisper of a hurt child who'd been shoved deep down where she could never be wounded again by reminders of her parents' divorce. She folded the voice to the back of her mind where it couldn't be heard anymore, and instead donned a perky smile for Danica. It worked every time to fool the world—to fool herself, too.

"So…meetings," she said as they left the office. "Are you in some kind of social club?"

"You could say that."

They caught the elevator, finding themselves alone. With a mysterious grin, Danica pressed the second-floor button, then leaned toward the shiny brass panel and primped, running her manicured hands over the short, dark pageboy cut she wore.

But Tam didn't look in the makeshift mirror. She knew exactly what she would see: a longer-than-average face framed by shoulder-length, thick, curly hair, light brown bordering on mousy. She would also find lips that were usually spread into a smile, and a pair of aquamarine eyes: the kind of color that, normally, you could only cheat into existence with contacts.

The shape of her face—and her long nose—had bothered her ever since a pivotal moment in middle school when Jimmy Denning had poked fun at them, calling her "horse face," causing an entire lunch table full of kids to laugh at her. Since her parents' divorce had made her sensitive to rejection, she'd taken it hard and to heart. But she hadn't taken it lying down; no, from that point on, she'd tried to distract everyone from noticing her face with a flamboyant wardrobe and a sunny personality, and it had worked. If everyone concentrated on her surface, they wouldn't bother with what lay beneath, she reasoned.

It was her safety net—one she fantasized about leaving behind. And if San Francisco could change her into a free spirit with no worries, then maybe she'd finally be able to just be herself.

At least, she hoped so.

Tam plucked at her intricate, bold, Haight-Ashbury vintage skirt, getting anxious about this meeting of Danica's. With any luck, everyone's attention would be drawn to her clothes, not her face. But if they did focus in on her mug? Yup, she'd be smiling.

And hoping they wouldn't look past that.

She turned to her friend. "I guess maybe all those comments I made at lunch about meeting men in a new town painted me as a desperate nympho or something?"

Danica laughed. "No more than the rest of us."

The rest of…who, exactly?

The elevator arrived at floor two, where the scent of herbs and perfumed lotions welcomed them. They stepped off, headed to a day spa called Indulge, then into a restroom at the end of the hall.

"A bathroom?" Not exactly The Ritz.

"Privacy and proximity for our secret meetings." Smiling, Danica placed her hand against the door. "Now, you don't need to take part in anything today, all right?"

Copyright © 2006 by Chris Marie Green.