All or Nothing Read online

  “I don’t suppose you’d spot me, Roxie?”

  The dog sat below him, watching, and thumped her tail against the floor.

  “No. I didn’t think so. Well, here goes.”

  Zach moved fast. He barely had time to reach into the box, snag the camera and clutch it to his chest before he lost his balance. He fell backward, just as he had anticipated, except that his fall was louder.

  And it hurt a lot more.

  “Ow!” he yelled when his butt hit the floor. His ankle banged off the dryer, his elbow hit the louvered door and sent it slamming against the wall. His shoulders hit the floor hard and he thunked his head, making the standard white ceiling with its standard cheap light fixture spin.

  Roxie barked at the noise and ran around him.

  “You’re a big help,” he told her and she licked his face. “You’re probably just relieved that I’m not dead. That way there’s hope of my opening the kibble bag tonight.”

  The dog barked again, then ran to the front door. She returned, proudly bearing her leash and dropped it onto Zach’s chest. The metal clip missed the camera lens, which was a major stroke of luck.

  “If you had opposable thumbs, Roxie, you wouldn’t have any need for me at all.”

  She licked his face again, indicating that she had other reasons for putting up with him. She made him smile, she always did, but a dog’s affection didn’t quite seem like enough anymore.

  He laid there for a minute and considered the plain box of his apartment—albeit an inverted, spinning version—and knew it wasn’t like the homes of any of his buddies. They had moved on from undergrad minimalism. Most of them had houses, with furniture and rugs and paintings and actual food in the fridge.

  They had committed to staying, to putting down roots. But if he wasn’t committing himself to this place and this life, then where was he going?

  Or was it just that he didn’t want to be tied down, in case he decided to go somewhere or do something?

  That sounded pretty lame, even to a guy who had hit his head, never mind one laying on the floor and talking to his dog. Zach got up and put the camera on the kitchen counter. He got the box from the bedroom full of prints and film and contact sheets, and rummaged in it for a minute. The dog tap-danced in the foyer.

  “Give me a minute, Roxie,” he said just as he found the print he wanted. Just the sight of it made his pulse leap. It was a color shot he’d taken in the rain of the Bridge of Sighs in Venice, but the image was virtually black and white. It was awash in tones of gray with a whisper of blue and green. It was moody and evocative and perfectly echoed his sense of Venice in the winter.

  This was one time that he’d nailed an image perfectly and he stared at it, surprised that it was as good as he’d remembered, Zach knew that this was the only time that he’d felt any satisfaction in any of his achievements. He’d had it blown up, once upon a time, in honor of that, but had never managed to mount and hang it.

  That would have put his pride in his accomplishment in full view, and would have provided the opportunity for his family to mock what was important to him.

  Zach decided that it was past time he stopped worrying about family response to his actions. He slid the print into an envelope with a piece of cardboard to keep it from bending, tucked the envelope under his arm and took Roxie for a walk.

  He’d stop at the framing store around the corner when he was out, get an acid-free mat and a frame. Then he’d have art on his wall, not some homogenized image out of the Ethan Allen catalog. Ha. And he’d pick up some film, too.

  He would take more pictures, and not just of Jen. He’d rediscover the world around him, through the lens of his camera. He didn’t have to travel far to look at the world his own way.

  “We’ll do a couple of road trips, Roxie,” he told the dog, who was more interested in a more immediate exploration of the outdoor world. “We’ll go up the coast, Nantucket, Cape Cod, Provincetown, even back to Rosemount, and blow off a bunch of film. You can check out the beaches or roll in dead fish if you’d rather. It’ll be fun.”

  Just talking about it put a bounce in Zach’s step. He’d felt this way when he’d gone off to Europe in pursuit of beauty, but not since. That was such a good thing that he wasn’t going to think about it any further. He’d just enjoy it.

  He’d just go with it.

  Although it would be more fun to do those road trips with someone who would keep up their side of the conversation. As a bonus, next Thursday he’d be seeing Jen again. Maybe in a week, he’d think of a way to make her smile.

  Lawyer jokes, after all, just weren’t going to cut it.

  * * *

  By the following Wednesday, Jen had run the entire gamut of possible responses and tactics. She’d quickly resolved not to ask anyone else out—because her luck was such that as soon as she did, Zach would show up, asking directions. She’d end up with two dates for Thanksgiving dinner, which wouldn’t please anyone.

  She’d worked up the nerve to call Zach twice, but had gotten his answering machine both times. (She hadn’t worked up the nerve to leave a message.) She’d just happened to walk in the vicinity of his condo building, purportedly on other missions, but hadn’t caught a glimpse of him. She’d lingered at Mulligan’s before and after her shift, as well as working extra hours, hoping he’d turn up.

  No luck.

  And now it was Wednesday, the day before the big day, and she had no answers. The only thing Jen knew was that Cin would call Zach tonight.

  Unless she called him first. That afternoon, on her way to work, she’d decided to give him one last chance to show up—and if he didn’t come in for dinner, she’d call him after the dinner rush. Cin was working until nine, so Jen figured she had a small window of opportunity left.

  Maybe.

  It was enough of a concern to distract her from the prospect of finishing the knitted avocado at work tonight. She wanted to finish it before Thanksgiving, so she could show it to her Gran, but it had given her nothing but trouble. For all she knew, she’d be up half the night, trying to get the silly thing done.

  It was snowing like crazy when Jen headed to work, and had been snowing all day. Cars were mired in the unplowed snow at the curb and the world was painted with swirling white. Jen walked from the T, her shoulders hunched against the cold, and was surprised to find her mood lightening. The snow was so pretty, and all of the people out shoveling their walks and driveways greeted her—as they never would when it wasn’t snowing. Bad weather seemed to bring out the best in people.

  Although that almost certainly wouldn’t be true at the airport, where thousands of anxious travelers were trying to get to Thanksgiving dinner on time. She was glad her family was pretty close together. They could all take public transit the next day.

  Jen was startled from her thoughts by the new sign on the cleared sidewalk in front of Mulligan’s.

  KARAOKE! EVERY WEDNESDAY NIGHT AT SEVEN.

  “Karaoke? Be serious,” Jen said to no one in particular when she stepped inside. Lucy grinned and Kathy, another waitress, shook her head. No one apparently had any doubt what Jen was talking about.

  But they left it to the boss man to explain.

  Once upon a time, Murray had bought a karaoke machine at a sale of another bar’s chattels. He was convinced it was a prize, but it had proven to be so well used that it was uncooperative about ever working again.

  Experts—mostly regular patrons falsely convinced they could fix anything, either independent of the influence of alcohol or because of it—had fiddled with the machine without result. Lucy and Jen had joked that if Murray ever got it working, it would be a miracle. Ultimately, the machine had been retired to a corner to collect dust.

  Until now.

  Murray was whistling as he polished the karaoke machine which had been set up at the end of the bar since Jen’s last shift. It was as large and ugly as only old technology can be. “I am serious. This thing is going to be a gold mine for us.” The
small stage that never hosted bar bands anymore had been cleared and one of the bar televisions had been pressed into service on the wall behind it.

  Lucy rolled her eyes as she marched from the kitchen to her section. “A gold mine. Like the glitter disco ball. That brought them in, didn’t it?”

  “Until the Smithsonian came and commandeered it for their collection,” Jen said, shedding her coat.

  “I’ve still got bruises from that 20th-century curator,” Kathy interjected, looking up from setting her tables.

  “She was one mean piece of business,” Lucy agreed.

  “And she took my mood ring, too,” Jen complained.

  Lucy and Kathy laughed together, but Murray wasn’t amused. “You three can yuck it up, but you’ll see. I’m on to something here. Retro is in right now. Everyone’s reliving the past. This is going to be a huge hit. You’ll see. Tonight we won’t be able to keep up with the crowd.”

  “If that Smithsonian chick comes back, don’t seat her in my section,” Jen warned.

  “Ha!” Kathy agreed. “I’ll pop her one before she gets the jump on me again.”

  “No abuse of the customers!” Murray called after her. “It’s bad for the insurance rates.”

  Lucy came to look at the machine and gave it a little poke. Something rattled deep in its belly, behind the smoked plastic cover. “Is the music on eight-tracks?”

  “LPs?” Kathy suggested.

  “It’s been updated to CD’s,” Murray informed them huffily.

  Lucy peered at it. “What music is on there? Handel’s Water Music?”

  “Worse,” Kathy said. “Duran Duran.”

  “Men Without Hats,” Jen said. “The Police. Devo.”

  Lucy brightened. “Hey, maybe the Eurythmics.”

  Murray shook his head and patted his new baby. “It’s loaded up with classics, so everyone will know the words.”

  Murray peered at the console. “See? Motown. Elvis Presley. The Beatles. All the good stuff.” He buffed the plastic with pride, removing Lucy’s fingerprints from the dark Plexiglas cover.

  Jen was intrigued despite herself. “Wait a minute. You’ve got Motown on there? Like what songs?”

  “You don’t know that stuff,” Lucy said. “You’re too young.”

  “I love that stuff. My mom plays it all the time.”

  Murray grinned with triumph, glad to show off his baby’s charms. “See, it works like this.” He handed Lucy the microphone—which was still wired into the console—then turned the beast on.

  The words of the first verse came up on the television screen as the background music began. A little red bouncing ball bounced on the left, apparently awaiting its cue to skip over the words to be sung.

  “You be Diana Ross,” Lucy said and handed Jen the microphone. “I don’t sing outside of the shower: it’s a public health hazard.”

  Jen didn’t need much encouragement. “You’re on.” Murray had chosen Stop! In the Name of Love, one of Jen’s favorites. She told herself that this was the only reason she was even contemplating doing this, but knew it wasn’t true.

  Besides, there were no witnesses. Her co-workers didn’t count.

  That wasn’t the reason either.

  She just loved to sing, even though she hadn’t for a long time.

  “Do it, Murray,” Jen said. “Let’s try this baby out.”

  “If it’s going to choke, it might as well do it now,” Lucy agreed.

  “Still time to take down the sign,” Kathy agreed.

  “Skeptics, every one of you,” Murray retorted and punched the button.

  Jen took to the stage, clutching the mike. The cord was barely long enough. “So, do I get backup here, or what?” she asked, feigning indignation when Lucy and Kathy didn’t follow her.

  “Excuse me,” Lucy straightened her apron. “The diva has spoken. I’ve heard about these singing babes and how much trouble they are.”

  “I want a sequined miniskirt,” Kathy complained.

  “A beehive hairdo,” Lucy agreed.

  The two stepped behind Jen as she sang the first verse. She didn’t even have to watch the bouncing ball: she knew all of the words. After a wobble or two, all three found their pitch and their rhythm. Jen started a Bossanova step, and Lucy and Kathy followed her lead. Murray tapped his fingertips on the bar and nodded approval. When they sang the word “stop” in the next chorus, all three of them held up a hand in unison.

  “Hey, this is good,” Murray said.

  “It’ll cost you big,” Lucy warned, before returning to her back-up warbles. Jen closed her eyes and let her voice go for the solo. This was the music she’d been raised on, the music that made her joyous no matter what was going on in her life. How had she lost track of it the last two years, just when—ironically—she’d needed it the most?

  There hadn’t been much to sing about, that was for sure. But her mom was right—she was alive.

  And maybe, just maybe, she was ready to sing again.

  The last chorus was triumphant, their three voices finding a good fit together. None of them heard the door open and close. Jen had her eyes shut. Their voices came together for the last chorus, held the note, then let it fade to nothing along with the music. Jen even took a bow to the applause of her co-workers.

  “Good job,” Murray said, clapping. They were all laughing and proud of themselves, and Jen flushed a little at the enthusiasm of the others.

  “I didn’t know you could sing,” Zach said and the bottom fell out of Jen’s universe.

  Jen pivoted to discover that Murray, Kathy and Lucy weren’t the only ones clapping. Her heart did an awkward Bossanova step that took it all around her chest and she had a hard time catching her breath.

  Zach had snow in his hair and a sparkle in his eye. He looked even better than she remembered, and this despite the battered leather jacket that showed his wanton disregard for our fellow creatures on the planet. Jen’s fingertips brushed the telephone number stuffed into her pocket and she was glad that she wouldn’t have to use it.

  Unless, of course, he’d stopped by to cancel.

  Chapter Five

  Zach grinned. It was one sure fire sign that a woman was interested when she blushed as red as a beet and Jen was redder than red. She also couldn’t look straight at him, which was a shame because he wasn’t sure whether her eyes were hazel or brown. He wanted to know.

  Especially since he hadn’t lost his touch, after all.

  “There are lots of things you don’t know about me,” she said.

  “I can think of lots of ways to fix that.” Zach settled into a seat at the bar with satisfaction.

  Jen propped a hand on her hip and he couldn’t read her expression. “So, let me guess. You’re here because my sister phoned you, wanting to have your love child, and you dropped by to find out whether insanity runs in my family or not.”

  The other waitresses laughed. Zach blinked, feeling again that Jen had shifted the field of play on him. Didn’t she understand that he was supposed to be the one who made people laugh? “No. I came to have some dinner and get directions.”

  That sounded boring, even to him, and Zach Coxwell wasn’t used to sounding boring. He frowned. “How are you doing?” he said to Murray, his mood having changed from triumphant to something more disgruntled in two bats of a pretty waitress’s eye.

  “Hey,” Murray said, his reply concise. “You want a pint? Same as last time?”

  Zach nodded. He didn’t really want the beer, but he supposed he should order something. He put his fave camera down on the bar with care. At least it didn’t steal his punch lines. He felt Jen move away and was a bit surprised that he was as aware of her presence as that.

  It must just be the challenge she presented.

  “So, now he’s a regular,” Lucy said with a roll of her eyes. “You’re getting desperate for business when coming here once makes someone a regular.”

  “So, how’s the other guy look?” Murray said, ignoring L
ucy.

  “It was a pity shot,” Zach confided. “I let him take it.”

  “Uh huh.” Murray glanced toward the waitresses. “So, now I’m paying you to stand around.”

  “You started it,” Lucy retorted. “You turned on the machine.”

  “And you can really sing, girl!” The third waitress patted Jen on the back.

  “Thanks.” Jen seemed embarrassed. Zach took the opportunity to look. She was every bit as attractive as he remembered. Not flashy, but he didn’t like women who showed their assets to everyone in the neighborhood, as the other unfamiliar waitress was doing. It looked as if Jen was wearing a man’s white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. This and the fact that she wore no makeup or jewelry, ironically, made her look more feminine. Zach couldn’t figure it out, so he looked more carefully.

  She flicked him a glance, catching him in the act. Zach smiled, but Jen turned away.

  With pink cheeks.

  Ha.

  “So, I’ve got an idea,” Murray said and the three waitresses groaned as one. “You three can start off the karaoke tonight, get things going.”

  “As if I’d do this in public,” Lucy retorted. “You won’t find me scaring small children.”

  “There won’t be any kids in here tonight,” Murray said. “And besides, I’m making it part of your job.”

  “Then you can pay me more.” Lucy propped her hands on her hips, which made her look formidable. Zach thought this was a more effective way of scaring small children, but he wasn’t foolish enough say so. “Add to the job description and you can add to the check. It’s that simple, Murray.”

  “We need sequined miniskirts,” the blonde waitress insisted. “In coordinated colors.”

  “Maybe not the beehive hair,” Jen said dryly and the blonde laughed. Zach noticed again that Jen didn’t crack a smile.

  “The shoes, though,” the other waitress insisted. “We need the shoes, dyed to match the miniskirts. Sweet little pointed toes, slingbacks with kitten heels.”

  “Vintage,” Jen said with surprising resolve. “One pair lime, one pair pale yellow and one pair shell pink.”