What Men Want by Deborah Blumenthal Page A

buried in heavy boots, it occurred to me that now Chris would have even more time on his hands because many of the employees of his agency lived outside the city and wouldn’t be ableto make it to work. I was determined to keep thoughts like that at bay and I called the office to see what my competitor was up to.
    â€œWhat’s Slaid writing about?” I asked the news clerk.
    â€œI didn’t read the paper yet,” she said typically. I heard her thumbing through the pages. Then the rustling stopped.
    â€œHe’s got a story about the city’s growing interest in bringing more business here,” she said, unaware of how the news would affect me.
    â€œShit,” I said. “Double shit. Can you e-mail it to me?”
    â€œOur system’s down,” she said, “and I’m just about to go out to lunch. Can I send it to you in an hour or so?”
    â€œWhy should today be different from every other day,” I said, thinking of all the system crashes that seemed to happen whenever I was either on deadline or was waiting for some vital information.
    â€œJen, there’s some major system upgrade going on around here for the next two days. We’re ready to drag out the typewriters. It’s a miracle that the friggin’ phones work.”
    Typical. We were one of the biggest papers in the city, presumably in the communications business, and it was impossible to get a story sent to me. “Well, can you fax the damn thing before you go?”
    â€œI’ll try,” she said. “What’s your fax number?”
    I searched through my bag and gave it to her.
    â€œGive me a few minutes,” she said.
    I headed to the business center to wait by the desk so that the story wouldn’t sit there with my name on it. I looked around me. The business center was adjacent to the hotel office. If only I had access to it… As I was waiting, Reilly walked by. Not the most opportune moment to run into him. He opened the glass door and walked in.
    â€œMorning,” he said. “How did you sleep?” The question struck me as odd, but I ignored it.
    â€œLike a baby,” I said. “I woke up, cried, went back to sleep, and woke up again.”
    He laughed. “Yeah, same here. We should have gone for a midnight walk on the beach.” He shook his head. “Anyway, the offer’s still good for snorkeling. I think there’s a group of people going over to Buck Island, so we’ll have company.”
    He probably guessed that I wasn’t comfortable going off alone with him. Anyway, the problem had taken care of itself. In fact, there was a regularly scheduled tour boat that would drop us off. We’d snorkel for the afternoon and be picked up by three. Reilly left and I turned back to the desk, perfect timing because I was handed the fax. I stuffed it into my purse and went back to my room.
    I had to hand it to Slaid. Little got past him. His column started by describing how the city budget needed balancing and how the mayor was making agreater effort to bring in new businesses as well as encouraging others in the arts to use the city’s resources to their advantage. It didn’t name names, but it was one of Slaid’s columns that included the unspoken words “more to come.”
    At least, from what I could tell, there was no indication that he knew that the mayor’s film-office people were in St. Croix. If I got lucky, I’d have that exclusive all to myself. I contemplated calling Slaid and just holding the phone out so that he could hear the soft sounds of a steel band playing “Yellow Bird.” But I also knew that I had to move fast; otherwise, even if he was chest high in snow, he’d find a way to join the party, if not sail to Buck Island himself.
    But back to me, towel in hand, applying waterproof sunblock and about to embark on my underwater adventure. If you’re thinking that I’m an outdoorsy