Free Waking Anastasia by Timothy Reynolds Page B

always been life-long friends. Manny was a lucky SOB, Jerry thought as he watched Carmella blush when one of his new staff complimented her on the pastries she’d whipped up in Jerry’s kitchen that afternoon. He looked around the loft at the smiles and camaraderie and realized that it was about time he surrounded himself with some positive, healthy relationships.
    Jerry had sort of expected staff to drop in for a half-hour or so and then drift off to do what they’d first planned for the holy night, but most of them were there by seven and—Jerry checked his watch—at eleven o’clock there were still eighteen people there, all laughing and joking like a functional family who actually enjoyed each other’s company.
    Dean Martin’s 1966 Christmas Album played softly in the background, some of Jerry’s new staff chatted next to the Christmas tree, some hung out near the desk where his laptop sat folded next to a lava lamp, Sushi’s hexagonal tank, and a few of Jerry’s photos and sketches of St. Marys. On the mantle sat a framed photo of Isis on which she’d written “To Jerry. Always and Forever, Love Isis” and two of the younger women on the team were laughing kindly and examining the photo and the attached lock of hair taped to the frame. Jerry looked up from the couch and saw them, and for the first time in a long time didn’t feel the need to defend his life to anyone. These people were just curious about their new boss.
    Turning back to the conversation, Jerry smiled. He and Manny chatted with three eager staff members about his own age. Jerry was coming to see that the West Coast staffers who believed they were so much more liberal in appearance and thought than people back east were in fact really not so different from the crew he worked with in Stratford, the Pork Congress of Canada. Mika was a tall, attractively bookish, mahogany-brunette with some far eastern, spiritually inspired tattoos, and a peaceful calm about her. Rolf was only twenty-one, and with his short stature and long, shaggy blond hair, was the closest thing Jerry had ever seen in the real world to Cousin Itt of the Addams Family. Andy, like Rolf, was just out of college and seemed to be the most conservative of the bunch with a dull, moneyed, prep school look and attitude.
    And then there was Lee-Anne. Jerry had quickly decided that she was far too much like the small-town women back in Stratford. She was a curvy, dark-blonde a couple years older than himself, and, as became quickly apparent to Jerry, she was the married company flirt. She wasn’t participating very much in the conversation, but she leaned over the back of the couch near Jerry, hanging on his every word while she made sure he could see her cleavage out of the corner of his eye. Not staring was taking all the self-control he could muster, because he had to admit to himself that she had really nice cleavage. He’d had a couple drinks and was feeling quite relaxed, so he had to concentrate on the conversation at hand. At the moment, though, Mika had his complete attention, even without flashing her breasts.
    “You saw a pod of killer whales?” Jerry was astounded. “While you were just walking down the beach?”
    “Yeah. We were collecting shells.” She carefully placed the Blake book down on the coffee table.
    Rolf nodded and took a sip of his beer. “I see them all the time, man. Orcas, greys . . .”
    “Grey whales?! Where can—?” A headache bumped into him, interrupting him. He put a hand to his temple, massaging.
    Rolf leaned in. “Jerry?”
    “Just a bit of a headache.” It drilled a hole in his skull. His two-drink limit was down to zero for the rest of the holidays, he decided. He closed his eyes for a second. He felt Lee-Anne’s hands on his shoulders, rubbing slowly, sensuously, and opened his eyes abruptly. She leaned closer and her breasts caressed the back of his head. His eyes went wide with shock.
    “Here, Jerry. This’ll get rid of your