What Feats He Did That DayChapter 16
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Shawn and I finally had our second date on Friday night. I was stunned to find Shawn more nervous than I was. The idea of any woman being more nervous than me was odd enough. The idea of Shawn Michaels being nervous at all was astonishing.
Maybe I was just being oversensitive. Maybe Shawn Michaels had the same insecurities and fears as everyone else. Although the look on the face of Sam Weathers as he sat in his taxi and watched us exit Shawn's apartment building suggested otherwise. His jaw dropped as soon as he saw us. Then he actually got out of the taxi and opened the door for her.
"Thank you, sir," she said, drawing her long legs into the interior so he could close the door.
"You've never helped me in, Sam" I grumbled as we both moved to the driver's side of the taxi.
"You ain't ever showed up in anything like that," he explained.
Shawn was wearing a black dress that had caused my jaw to drop as well when she first answered the door.
"I show up in a wheelchair!"
I opened the door and lifted myself into the seat behind Sam's.
"And I always take care of your chair, don't I?" he asked, taking it to the back of his van and storing it there. "You don't want me opening the door for you, Rick. You like your independence."
"Shawn likes her independence too," I said.
"Shawn likes to have doors opened," Shawn said sweetly. "Thank you again, Sam."
"My pleasure, miss. Where may I take you two fine people?"
"Antolini's," I said.
"Italian," Shawn said, grabbing my arm and pressing herself against me. "The food of love."
"Um, yes."
Shawn giggled all the way to the restaurant. When the wine arrived, she offered a toast.
"To Rick Handley, the scourge of Charleston!"
"To Shawn Michaels," I said. "The co-scourge."
Our article was set to appear in Monday morning's paper. Rachel had killed the story I had written on Wednesday night. She had just smiled when I reminded her that every other paper in the state was going to have the story after the morning's press conference."
"They have his failure to deny your questions. And that's it. They don't have your e-mail, do they?"
"As far as I know they don't," I said. "They didn't get it from me."
"So they have no idea what your questions even meant. I bet that if you show Simpson the whole thing in private, you might be able to get him to admit that they did bring women on the trip. Just to limit the damage from this. Then you'll have a story. We can print the whole of the message as a sidebar. Okay?"
"Okay!"
I was pumped. Partly it was the upcoming article. But the delay also meant that I now had the rest of Wednesday night free. I eagerly picked up the phone to arrange a late dinner with Shawn. I got the machine. I called again half an hour later and got the machine again. Damn and damn again.
Shawn showed up late at the next day's press conference. Pete was just about finished with his formal statement when she slid into the seat beside me. She gave me a squeeze of my hand and a smile that said she was happy to see me.
When he asked for questions, Shawn was the first to raise her hand. Pete smiled as he called on her.
"One question, Pete." Shawn said. "How did you do with your hunting?"
"My hunting?" he asked.
"The doves," Shawn said with a smile. "How'd you do?"
"I'm West Virginia born and bred, Shawn. I don't have blank days hunting. Who's next?"
Shawn sat back in her chair and turned to me.
"At least now we know the diary wasn't his," she whispered to me.
"True."
"What happened to your article, anyway?"
"I'll tell you later."
After the press conference had ended, we talked over coffee at the Java Cava.
"Rachel really shocked me," I explained. "She thinks that the diary is credible enough to run with it. She suggested I give Pete a chance to comment on the whole thing this afternoon and then spend tomorrow writing a real analysis."
"So what are you doing with the, um, sex thing?"
I shrugged.
"Rachel wants to print what's in the e-mail," I said. "Other than that, it depends on what Pete has to say."
"And if he says the whole thing is a fake?"
I smiled at her.
"First of all, he had his chance to deny the cripple remark yesterday and again today, after everyone else's article came out. So we know that's true. And second, he's not really in that good a position to call anything a forgery, you know?"
She gave me a half-hearted smile and I invited her to come with me when I met with Pete that afternoon.
Pete was unusually calm when we arrived. When I handed over the e-mail, without the address of course, his face registered surprise but not shock. He read it slowly and sighed before he addressed us.
"All right. Were there women on the plane and on the trip? Yes, there were. Will I tell you which of the Amalgamated executives brought female friends? No. Will I tell you any of the names of those executives? No. Did the Governor bring a companion? No, of course not. Did I? No."
"So this is a diary of the trip?" I asked.
"I think we both know the answer to that," he answered.
Shawn and I both waited him out.
"All right. Yes. I'm sure it is a diary kept by someone who accompanied us on the trip."
"It ends the same day you returned," Shawn observed.
"So it does," Pete said softly. "I imagine the party was pretty much over after everyone learned of your article. But as you note, Shawn, I wasn't there."
"And the BDSM?" I asked.
"Neither the Governor nor I have any recollection of any unusual behavior on the plane," he said. "But it was a fair-sized aircraft."
"So it's possible?"
He gave me a rueful look.
"Anything is possible."
"Did you save room for dessert?" the waitress asked us when we had finished our meals. "Some tiramisu, perhaps?"
"Some what?" I asked her.
"Tiramisu," she said more slowly. "Lady fingers in cream."
"Mmmm, that's just what I had in mind." Shawn said. She was looking directly at me, her eyes sparkling.
The waitress probably thought Shawn was interested in ordering something more. I knew better.
"Just the check, please." I said.
"No dessert?"
Shawn gave her a look that spoke volumes.
"I'll get the check," the waitress said.
"I'll call Sam," I said.
"This is what I like," Shawn said as she sat back with a smile. "Service."
We started kissing in the taxi on the way back from the restaurant. Sam had asked whether we wanted him to wait after we stopped at the Prince Arms to drop Shawn off. Shawn had simply suggested that if he took that stop out of his itinerary, he could call it a night. Sam got it before I did. Of course, he didn't have Shawn Michaels' lips distracting him.
She sat on my lap and we kissed on the elevator. We kissed in the hallway. We kept kissing all the way to the bedroom.
"I want to make love," Shawn moaned into my ear.
"Me too," I said.
"Take off those clothes and get in bed, Rick," she said, climbing off the chair. "I'll be right back."
I pulled myself into bed and undressed down to my shorts as she walked into the living room. I heard the door to the refrigerator close and then heard her walking back. She appeared in the doorway and leaned against the doorjamb, inviting me to study the outfit that she had chosen for our date. Her little black dress was an updated version of the classic. The straps riding on her upper arms rather than her shoulders revealed a beautiful expanse of her tanned torso. The fabric hugged her generously curved figure, exposing a sexy six inches of her thigh when it ended. The effect, particularly with her carefully styled blonde hair and devastating smile, was overwhelming.
"Somebody likes," she said, nodding at the obvious bulge in my crotch.
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