Stepping Up Read Free Page A

trying to
hear what’s happening in the attraction.
    “Didn’t you tell your other boyfriend you were on a date
with the man of his mama’s dreams?” Jimmy whispers.
    “Jimmy, that is disturbing on so many levels.  And your hand
continues to creep from my shoulder; does it have a destination?”
    “Oh that? Silly me, I forgot I had neurologically isolated
that wrist.  I’ll give it such a talking to later.”  Instead he uncoils his arm
from around me and our fingers interleave on the common armrest.  I can’t fault
him; if I do say so myself, I’m a hottie. And I should be. I’ve worked hard
enough for it.  Mummy added a lot, and Da did his fair share too.  Granted,
most of his contribution was from his ancestors, but it’s still from him. And
each of them taught me to take what I was given and improve on it. Considering
I’m 5 feet 7 inches, 33B-24-34 and tip the scales at just under 110 pounds, I
like to think I’ve done just a bit of that.
    After the movie, Jimmy walks me back to the comfortable
squalor that is my apartment.  We stop at the door. “Yeah, yeah, I know,” he
says.  “If you had any of the good stuff you’d invite me in for a night cap.”
    I feign personal injury.  “Hey, you’ve made it further than
most.  The last guy that took me to a movie had to leave in the middle of it. 
Something about an emergency testicular reconstruction, if I remember
correctly.  The fellow before him I left at the train station.”
    “You told me.  But I remember you mentioning having given
him a field tracheotomy with a folded paper napkin, or something similarly
unladylike.  Well, many adjectives will be used in the as yet unpublished
biography of James Theophilus Beezler III, Esquire.  But ungentlemanly will
never be among them.”
    “As it happens, I do have a half bottle of merlot.  It’s not
the best, but once you choke the first mouthful down, the rest follows rather
easily.”
    He laughs, “I’m sure that’s the case.  Sadly, I believe both
of us have early mornings.  Good night my sweet Sonia.”
    “Good night, Jimmy.”  We exchange a lingering hug, a loving
but sibling-ish kiss, and then he’s on his way home.  I tap in the access code
and press my thumb to the lock pad of my door.  A ferocious feline yowl greets
me as I open the door to my flat and hear four feline feet thud down the length
of the apartment. “Oh, you poor baby, has nobody fed you in the past three
hours?”  Fuzzbutt tops the scales at eleven pounds easy.  He’s missed many
things but the word “meal” is conspicuously absent from the list.  His yellow
eyes bore into me from his black fur.  Just to shut him up, I pour a scoop of
kitty kibble into his bowl.  He plops down and begins to crunch it with gusto. 
I watch him for a few minutes.  I actually envy him a little; he has no
worries.  I, on the other hand, am not sure from where his next meal will
come—well, his next bag of meals anyway.
     I check my inbox:
    •           Granger : Mr. Hanson has sent a text. 
Apparently it is from his room at the starport hotel. Come by anytime from
1930 to 2200, room 112, I’ll look you over and evaluate your resume. (Sounds
like someone expects me to be an associate mattress tester.  No thanks.)
Delete.
    •           FarGazer : Ms. Boudreaux left a voicemail: Thank you for your interest. As long as you’ve had Basic Engineering 201,
you can start as a spacer apprenticed to one of our journeyman engineers. Come
by the SAO anytime 0800 to 1630, Monday through Friday. (Maybe.  But I want
to be an engineer not someone’s wrench spinner.  I’m doing that now.  And I
went way past 201.) I’ll keep it for future reference.
    •           Night Searcher : another voice mail: Hello
Miss MacTaggert. We are filling three slots and an engineer is one of them.
Please come by our launch in bay 114 and take a skills assessment examination
anytime within the next 24 hours.