Strandline

Strandline - Episode 14: Gravitas

Naveen hadn’t missed Craig’s grin as he walked away with Kristin. The guy was enjoying Naveen’s discomfort way too much. He’d get back at him somehow. Was 23 too old to be giving a smart-assed friend a wedgie?

“You all work together?” Maira asked.

Naveen returned his attention to his ex-girlfriend. She looked fantastic, if uncharacteristically formal, in her tailored, off-white pantsuit. Her black hair was pulled back in one of those twisty hairdos, and looked just as professional. She’d occasionally wore her hair up like that when they’d gone clubbing. Within an hour it would come loose, following her movements like a banner as they’d danced.

After giving himself a little mental shake, Naveen replied, “Yeah. Sort of. I mean, Kris is looking for a job. Craig and I might be too, after what happened to the Champlain.”

Maira’s eyes went wide. “You guys were working the Champlain? Man, this has not been your week!”

“You can say that again,” Naveen laughed, albeit a bit nervously. He really didn’t want to think about anything related to his golemness, especially around his ex-girlfriend-turned-reporter. So he nodded at the microphone she still held in one hand. “When’d you land this gig?”

Maira’s smile lit her face. “Last month. It was pretty lean for a while after ‘The King and I’ shut down. This isn’t theater, but it pays the bills.”

“You sounded great,” Naveen said. “Lots of, whaddya call it? Gravity.”

Maira frowned, puzzled, then broke into a grin. “I think you mean ‘gravitas.’”

Naveen shrugged; English had never been his strong suit. “Tomato, to-mah-to.”

“Hey, Maira!” She and Naveen followed the sound of the man’s voice. The cameraman leaned out of the news van’s window. “We’re supposed to be at the naval base in 15 minutes.”

“Shit!” Maira covered her mouth with one hand, as if that would recall her mild swear. The gesture made Naveen frown. His Maira wouldn’t have done that. “Public persona,” she explained, resigned. Then her flirtatious smile was back. “We should have dinner sometime.”

Naveen raised an eyebrow. “The last time we had dinner I came to in Maui and couldn’t remember half of the weekend.”

Maira swatted his arm. “Oh, hush. It was fun, wasn’t it?”

“It was,” Naveen agreed with a grin. “You can still do three-day parties now that you’re KHON’s star reporter?”

A sly grin slid across Maira’s face. “Three-day, no. One-day, yes.”

What harm would dinner do? None, except it would lead to another, and then clubbing, and then a rave, and before he knew it he’d have missed three days of work. And what would happen if he came in contact with magic? “I, um, should get to the office.”

“You sound so white-collar,” Maira chuckled.

Naveen grinned. “Just gonna fill out some white-collar guy’s paperwork.”

Maira studied him for a moment, then stood on tip-toes to give him a peck on the cheek. “Good to see you, Naveen. Don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t,” Naveen said. At least his reply was half-truthful. He was only a stranger to himself.

***

Craig and Naveen were uncharacteristically quiet during the elevator ride from Pacific Rim Transport’s 14th floor offices to the lobby. Kristin hadn’t been surprised that the company had no openings suitable for her. The guys, however, were taking the news of their furlough hard. As the elevator slowed, she ventured, “It makes sense, since the Champlain is being repaired. And a furlough is better than being let go.”

“Yeah,” Craig agreed, “but a furlough won’t pay the rent.”

Naveen sighed. “At least we got one more paycheck coming.” He turned a somber look on his friend. “After that we’ll have to go back to exotic dancing.”

Kristin did a double take, her eyes widening when Craig didn’t laugh or even smile. Then her imagination conjured images of the two of them wearing nothing but bow ties and speedos, and she felt her face flush. Craig wasn’t bad looking at all, but she knew how good Naveen smelled and felt.

The guys burst into laughter as the elevator doors slid open. Kristin scowled at them, but couldn’t stay mad. They crossed the marble-floored lobby, ignoring pointed frowns from suited businesspeople.

They’d settled down by the time they stepped out of the building’s cool, conditioned air into the humid afternoon outside. Then Kristin noticed the dark-skinned woman with braided hair standing under the Monkeypod tree near the curb, and her good mood evaporated. “Petra,” she said loudly enough for the guys to hear.

Craig and Naveen were equally displeased. “Look who’s back,” Naveen drawled as they approached.

Petra had the decency to look contrite, which Kristin supposed was something. “I really am sorry about last night, Naveen,” Petra said, meeting his eyes. “If there had been another way–”

“Of course there was another way!” Naveen spat. “The favors I owe you for getting me back here from Strandline? Consider them paid. And way to ditch Kris on her first night here, especially after that!” He waved in the direction of King Street.

Petra faced Kristin, unconcerned by the two muscular young men flanking her. Kristin didn’t know how she did it. She was no threat, but together Craig and Naveen must have outweighed Petra by 250 pounds. “I owe you an apology for that. Bryce was in bad shape. I chose to tend to him.” She nodded at Craig. “And I knew he’d look after you.”

Kristin opened her mouth to tell Petra exactly what she thought about her choices, but Craig beat her to it. “You ‘knew,’” Craig said, his voice quiet and intense. “That’s just like a Strandliner. You think you know everything. What I know is that you chose a terrorist over one of your own!”

Although he’d kept his voice down, the confrontation was drawing stares. The attention helped Kristin rein in her temper and move between Craig and Petra. “Enough.” She looked up at Craig and Naveen. “Thank you. But I can fight my own battles.” Then she turned to Petra. “I’m grateful that you and Miguel got me out of the Coalition. I have somewhere to stay now.” She tossed a smile over she shoulder at her friends.

The older woman frowned at the three of them for a long moment. Last night was bad, Petra said mentally. Somehow Kristin knew that she was the only one who could hear. There’s more going on here than you know. Please believe me.

Kristin felt her sincerity… or thought that she did. Petra had been doing her nictan thing for years. Who knew what tricks she’d learned?

I don’t blame you for being angry, Petra added. I would be too if I were in your shoes. I’m asking you to hear me out, preferably without your bodyguards. A grin flitted across her face as she said the last. Five minutes. That’s all I ask.

Kristin frowned, considering.