K. Linde - Off the Record

“Psh,” Victoria said, rolling her big brown eyes. “You were staring off into never-never land, because everyone on campus is going on about that hot politician you interviewed.”

“I know, right? It’s crazy,” Liz said.

“Not that crazy. The man is gorgeous. Everyone is interested to see if he’s going to make appearances here so they can go drool over him,” Victoria told her, flipping her kinky curly hair from one side to the other.

Victoria was a voluptuous beauty with breasts that were always revealed in her low-cut tops and curvy hips always revealed in her tight skinnies. She was from New Jersey, with the northern accent and all that went with that. She wore a bit too much makeup with high penciled-in eyebrows, full red lips, and thick eyeliner. No one would have guessed that she was a Morehead scholar along with Liz, or that she was a lab researcher in genetics. But she didn’t take herself too seriously like most of the other honors students did, and didn’t bother with anyone who couldn’t keep up with her wicked smart mind.

“Is anyone actually reading the article?” Liz asked.

“Was there an article attached?” Victoria smirked at her, arching one well-groomed eyebrow.

“Just the one I spent all weekend on.”

“You could seriously use your time more wisely.”

“Weren’t you in the lab all weekend?” Liz leaned forward, her Carolina-blue blazer resting against her notes. She had the sleeves rolled up to three-quarter length because of the heat. It was a soft, breathable linen, and she had paired it with a neutral tank and white skinnies. Her typical platform heels had been exchanged for a pair of brown Oxfords. She missed the heels when they weren’t on her feet, but it just wasn’t practical when she had to walk to school.

“Not all weekend.”

Liz sighed and waited for what she knew was coming. “Another professor, Vic?”

“Nooooo. He’s just a TA. A PhD student in something useless…journalism maybe.”

“Ha. Very funny. We’re all laughing.”

“Gorgeous. Totally not my type. I’m way smarter than him.”

“And yet it doesn’t stop you,” Liz said, shaking her head.

“Why would I let that stop me? He has an office, Liz,” she said, as if that explained it.

“Oh, I don’t know. Propriety? Decorum?” Liz suggested.

“Well-behaved women rarely make history,” Victoria quoted Laurel Thatcher Ulrich.

Liz let it pass, turning back to her notes. Victoria pulled out her oversize Audrey Hepburn sunglasses and leaned back on the bench to observe the mayhem in the Pit. It was said that if you sat in the Pit all day, you would see everyone on campus. Liz didn’t know when anyone would have time for that, but it was impossible not to see someone that she knew when she was here.

But she hadn’t really been expecting to see Hayden. They both practically lived in the journalism building near the Quad and in the newsroom in the Union off of the Pit, but after their parting on Friday things had been awkward. They had talked about the article, but nothing more, and she had left in a hurry Sunday after they had pieced it all together.

“Liz!” he called now, jogging up to her table.

Victoria propped herself up on her elbows and eyed him over the top of her extra-large sunglasses. “Hey,” Liz said with a smile.

He looked good…really good. He wore brown Rainbows, pressed khaki shorts, and a Carolina-blue polo. The two of them matched.

“The paper is going insane. They asked for a reprint,” he said, his face ecstatic, his hand running back through his shaggy hair. He tossed his head to the side to push the hair out of his eyes when it fell back into place. “I don’t remember the last time we needed a reprint.”

“Wow! Do you need help?” she asked, stuffing her notes haphazardly back into her folder.

“No. I should be fine. I have a couple guys who will make the runs, but I’m so glad I saw you. Reprints! All because of your article.”

Victoria cleared her throat loudly, sitting up and crossing her legs. “What did I miss?”

“Oh, sorry,” Liz said quickly. “Victoria, this is Hayden Lane, my editor at the paper. Hayden, my roommate, Victoria.”

His face lit up and he stuck his hand out. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Great to finally meet you.”

Victoria’s eyes darted to Liz and back as she slid her hand into his. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you, Lane. People call you Lane, right?”

“Yeah. My friends call me Lane. Do your friends call you Vickie?” he asked, dropping her hand after they shook.

“No,” she said plainly.

“Oh, well, I like it. Seems to fit you,” he said with that charming smile. Liz tried to hide her own behind her hand.

“It really doesn’t,” Victoria bit back, not finding it funny at all.

“Suit yourself,” he said, turning back to Liz. “Liz, I can’t believe how well this all went. After the reception of your work, would you be interested in covering the campaign division for the paper? You’re suited for it. I’d let you take it whatever direction you see fit. Consult me, but it’s yours. I’d want you to start this summer.”

Liz couldn’t hold back her shock this time. He was handing over the entire campaign division to her! If she had thought being on the front cover was a dream, it was nothing compared to running her own column, her own division.

“What are you doing Saturday night?” he asked.

Her mouth fell open but she recovered quickly. After all that awkwardness, he was actually going to ask her on a date?

“I’m pretty open,” she managed. She could feel Victoria’s eyes on her.

“Great. There’s this gala in Charlotte that I want you to go to. I have tickets, but my parents want me back in D.C. this weekend.”

“Oh.” Her heart sank. He wanted her to work. What was wrong with her? “Yeah, that’ll be great. Just shoot me an email with the information.”

“I will. I have to run, though. Reprint!” he said with so much enthusiasm.

Liz watched him jog into the Union and disappear from sight. As soon as he was gone, she threw her head down on the table and grumbled, “Could it get any more embarrassing?”

“He could start calling you Lizzie,” Victoria suggested.

Liz cracked up despite her frustration. “I just…I swear he was going to ask me out.”

“You’ve had the hots for that guy forever, right?”

“Yeah,” Liz admitted with a shrug.

“Why don’t you make the move? I bet he’d like that,” Victoria said, as if she knew.

“I shouldn’t have to,” Liz said stubbornly.

“At least you have gala tickets,” Victoria said.

Liz rolled her eyes. “Oh, who wants to go to a political gala anyway?”

“I don’t know. You’re asking the wrong person,” Victoria replied, leaning back on her elbows and staring out across the Pit. “Just find a hot guy there and forget about your Hayden Lane problems.”

If it was only that easy…

The Charlotte Convention Center was a modern-looking glass building set in the heart of downtown Charlotte. Nothing especially fancy, but large enough to hold bigger parties and conferences, and it even boasted a few high-end car shows. It was a staple for luxury political banquets for the state.

Liz kicked her flip-flops into the car and pulled out her pumps. It was a two-hour drive from Chapel Hill, and she wasn’t about to drive that far in four-and-a-half-inch heels, especially not black leather platforms. She slid the heels onto her feet and stepped out into the parking garage. Her black satin dress fell to her knees, clinging to her athletic shape with a lace V-cut that hung softly off her shoulders. A matching black belt cinched around her waist and tied in the back, accenting her waistline. Her blond hair was loosely French braided across the front of her head and pulled into a messy bun at the nape of her neck, and she had gone for neutral makeup.

Grabbing ahold of the small gold clutch where her voice recorder was stored, she shut her car door and walked out of the parking garage. It was a short walk to the convention center, and by the look of the people walking in with her, she was headed to the right place.

Liz walked into the convention center behind a middle-aged couple holding hands and speaking in whispers. The entranceway was all high arched ceilings, long white pillars, and a red-carpeted floor leading down an extended hallway. It was impressive enough, but could use a little work to keep up with the clientele it boasted. Liz wasn’t complaining, though. She still thought it was beautiful.

She followed the couple when they took a right down a hallway that opened up into a decent-sized ballroom. It was filled with several dozen white-clothed tables fit to seat eight. Each white-draped chair was tied around the middle with alternating red and blue ribbons. A bouquet of white flowers with faint red and blue accents rested in the center of each of the tables. A dance floor was completely open in the very center of the room, and a small stage was constructed directly opposite the entrance with an American flag banner across the back, two projection screens with the Jefferson-Jackson gala logo on display, and a large wooden podium. Chairs were already filling up as guests took their seats.

Liz wasn’t sure how Hayden had acquired the ticket, because she wasn’t seated in the back, where the reporters typically sat for press events. Not that she was working tonight. Well, not exactly. She wasn’t carrying around a camera, at least, and the voice recorder was only for extreme circumstances. She was there primarily to listen, make contacts, and gather information on where she should be the rest of the summer for her later articles, not to write anything specifically about the event.