Beeboobeep.

Gabby lifted her head from within the stacks of texts piled across her desk. Inside a makeshift paper fort, she eyed the button-heavy, beeping blinking phone on the corner of the desk as it rang.

It could be anyone calling. Like her Senior Editor, wondering how her latest batch of edits was coming, since they were late. Or the cute-but-too-aggressive textbook company rep that'd somehow located her office number and was now calling daily to "chat".  The prospect of another awkward conversation with him made her sick to her stomach. Uninterested? Understatement.

Beeboobeep.

She peeked at the display...hmmm, not a New York area code. It could be her mother, who also called daily to "chat" but usually digressed into an inquisition. "Are you being social, Gabrielle? Have you met any men? Are you carrying your mace every day?" The phone number, however, was not a familiar one. Her mother's numbers were programmed into every phone within her reach- she needed to be prepared when her mother was calling.

Beeboobeep.

Gabby marked her place with the index finger of one hand and skillfully reached around the stacks with the other, plucking the receiver off of the base. "ThisisGabrielle," she muttered, tucking the phone between her ear and shoulder and opening the text again.  

"Hello? Gabrielle?"

"Uh huh," she grunted, rolling her eyes. "Thus why I said 'this is Gabrielle'. Can I help you?"

"Wow. You got meaner and yell-ier since we last talked."

She blinked, pulled the receiver back and stared at it, and then tucked it back between her ear and shoulder. "Excuse me?"

"You're even getting kind of a New York accent goin' on. I guess that makes sense. You've been there long enough to pick up an accent."

"Uhm... I'm sorry. Do we know each other?"

The voice - a pleasant baritone that didn't give itself away whatsoever - laughed. "Yeah, we know each other. Intimately. Isn't this Gabrielle Moreno?"

"Yeah. And you are?"

"I guess I should ask if this is Gab-Gabrielle."

Light bulb. Gabrielle's eyes popped open. Wide open.

One year before, on her way home from her combination Going Away/Birthday Party, she'd stumbled upon a celebrity weaving down Sunset Boulevard. Rather, he'd stumbled upon her. She did her Good Samaritan deed of the year and offered to drive him home. He accepted, insisted she come inside and then charmed her into staying. All night. A smile crept across her face as she remembered that night. Vividly.

"Oh. My. God. Is this who I think it is?!"

The voice that she prayed was JC laughed, and that's when it was confirmed for her. His laugh- it was more than a sound, but a feeling, a shock of lightning searing through her. She remembered feeling that while lying up against him watching the movie; and later while they made out like teenagers. And much later when he took her upstairs and they fucked like sailors on shore leave while the sunrise spread a pink glow across the room.

"Well, now. It depends on who you think this is."

She lowered her voice, almost whispering into the phone. She didn't have an office, just a cubicle and Rolanda, a fellow Junior Editor who shared the faded fabric wall was the nosiest person she'd ever met.

"JC? Is that you?"

"It's me," he said, shouting a little. "Found ya!"

She laughed, gleeful at the thought of him hunting her down. "You did. Oh my God, you did. How are you?"

"I'm well. I'm doing really well, lately. How are you doing? How's New York and the new job and not working for a smut rag, Smut Rag Girl?"

She laughed again but chided herself about it. Stop doing that, it wasn't that funny.

"New York is... well, it's New York. I'm still adjusting." She shifted, dumping the thick packet of papers on top of a nearby stack and leaning onto the desk, offering the conversation her full attention. "The job is good. Uhm, different. I'm learning a lot of things."

"Different sounds like spin for 'fucking sucks'."

If only he knew how close he was to the truth. "Whatever, Drunk Guy. What are you doing calling me? You need me to break another hot 'split my pants at salsa class' story? I'll do it, for old time's sake."

His deep, gut level laughter filling her ears had an unexpected effect. For no reason at all, her chest tightened and tears sprang into her eyes and her throat closed up. That voice, that laugh, that sound, that easy-going, lounging at the pool while sipping a margarita attitude was so far removed from the steel and brick and brusque that was New York.

She was accustomed to rolling into LA Magazine around 10am, grabbing a latte or a green tea smoothie and settling into her comfy leather office chair while glancing over her shoulder at the sand and surf in the distance. Throughout the day, friends filtered into and out of her office with funny stories, breaking news and food. Around 6 or 7pm, she'd gather her belongings and wander out with everyone else, hit a happy hour or a yoga class and then meander home to watch some TV and crawl under the covers, resting up to repeat the entire process the next day. Except you never knew what the next day would bring - a press junket or a red carpet event or high class party... or ending up sitting tables away from Leo DeCaprio and a gaggle of girls. He rolled ten chicks deep at all times.

Life in New York could not be more opposite. Gabrielle had acquaintances; people she met here and there, but not people she would wander away with to enjoy a happy hour martini. Work began promptly at 8:30am, a hard and fast rule. She was still getting used to taking the train into Manhattan and the go, go, go pace of everything, everyone, everywhere. There was no meandering or drifting in and out. Every task was pointed, every step purposed, every person direct with clipped tones and voices in decidedly northeastern accents. Throughout her day, only Rolanda filtered past her cubicle, usually to pry into some aspect of her life or to ask who called her and what did they want and were her friends in LA nice, because they seemed nice and lots of fun. And why didn't Gabby ever go back to LA to visit? Rolanda was too damn nosy.

She had one window, and her view from that window was buildings. And beyond that?  More buildings. If she took the elevator to the top floor and leaned way far over to the right, she could spot Central Park. That always made her smile, so once a day she took that trip. Otherwise, her head was buried in paper. Lots and lots of paper. Though she liked it much better than inventing a story out of Drew Barrymore in a baseball cap pulled low and sneaking out of a Starbucks in Malibu, editing textbooks for the education division of a worldwide publisher was... well, boring.

He predicted that she would be bored. She confidently, pompously disagreed. No way would she concede that he was right.

"I don't have any scoop like that for you. Not that I'd tell you anyway. But uh, I might be coming out that way and uhm.... well, I definitely wanted to see you, if I could."

KaTHUMPKaTHUMPKaTHUMPKaTHUMP pounded in her ears, loud and crazy-fast and out of control. "You're...you're coming out here?"

"I said I would come see you, didn't I? If I remember right, your birthday is coming around..."

Her pelvis clenched at the memory of her last birthday. It was a perfect night, one so unimaginably perfect that it had been impossible to top.  While she'd met a lot of nice men in New York, none of them held a candle to his quiet confidence and sweet demeanor. She hadn't had a night like that since that night.

Crossing her fingers, she smiled into the phone and used her most sultry tone. "You've got three days to get here if you want a repeat of last year."

"Three days, huh? Well..." He cleared his throat. Challenge accepted, it sounded like. "I should be in town Friday. Where are you living these days?"

She almost heaved a sigh of relief right in his ear, but caught it and held it in her throat. "Right on time. And I live in Queens. Astoria to be exact."

"Queens!" he squealed. "Don't you work in midtown? Why the hell do you live all the way in Queens?"

"Because I like to spend my money on more things than rent. Like food. And gas. My mother got me into a secure building. Buzzers and all that. She thinks New York is exactly like you see it in movies."

"Like Brooklyn at night. All the time."

"Exactly. So..." Gabrielle sat back in her chair, twisting the phone cord around her finger. "Why do you want to know where I live? Are you coming to see me?"

"Thinking so. Maybe hang out with you for a few days. Do you live close to LaGuardia?"

She laughed, tipping her head back. "Oh, I see. You need someone to pick you up at the airport."

"Now you're catching on. Do you know how much cabs run up there?"

Her mind drifted to the state of her apartment. There was a tinge of nervous excitement to be in close, private quarters with him. Overnight. For him though, her tiny corner of the world would be a downgrade from the larger, more sprawling West Hollywood home.

"I guess that would be okay."

"Are you sure? I don't want to make you uncomfortable. Say the word and I'll schlep my ass to midtown where I belong."

"No, no. It's fine. I was just thinking that my place is so small, compared to yours. It's just one bedroom."

The line crackled with his low, sexy chuckle. "You don't have to try to impress me, Gabby. I've already slept with you."

She laughed too loudly, glancing around to make sure no one was coming to see who was having fun and put a stop to it. "Well, don't you sound awfully cocky?"

"If I say so myself, I am awfully cocky."

"Oh, I walked right into that."

"You sure did," he said. "So. Friday. LaGuardia, 8:30. Pick me up. I'll hang out with you. That work?"

Shuffling sounds took over as she dug for her cell phone and tapped the calendar app to open it. "Sure. Okay. And by hang out with me you mean...."

"What I said. Hang out with you. Be with you for an extended amount of time, doing fun things."

"I don't remember you being such a smartass. Friday, 8:30," she repeated, tapping the date and time into her phone, as if she would forget. As if she wouldn't be thinking about seeing him in just a few days from the moment she hung up until she saw his face.

"I'll be there. We'll... hang out."

"You still drive that shitty blue Toyota?"

"It wasn't shitty when it was taking you home, asshole."

He laughed. "I don't remember that at all."

"I wouldn't imagine you would. You were falling down drunk."

"I just remember this hot, hot piece of ass in my house. And I didn't want her to get away."

"She didn't," Gabby said, beaming. "Besides, she wasn't going to let you let her get away."

"I remember that, too." He paused, took a breath and then said, "So. I was thinkin'... I mean..."

Gabby delighted at the sheer power in her hands at the moment. One word could bring him joy or send him to the depths of disappointment. At least she liked to think his disappointment would reach depths. It would at least dip. Slightly.

"Listen, JC. I know exactly why you're calling. And I know exactly what you mean by ‘hang out'. And honestly?  I'm really excited about it. But uhm...." She glanced around, making sure no one was lurking, waiting for her to get off of her flirty, personal phone call during business hours. "I really need to get back to work though, or I'll be in trouble. I'll see you soon, okay?"

She took down his number, they exchanged a few barbs for good measure and she hung up. And smiled to herself.  

"That was a fun conversation," said a voice through the wall. "You finally gonna get some?"

"Maybe," Gabby answered while she picked up the same stack of pages she'd put down minutes before.