Cold Fire

Christine Dubrovek's madonna face brightened. "Oh, yes, he's spoken about you. You only joined the company, what, a month ago?" "Six weeks now," Jim said, flowing with it, confident the right answers would pour out of him even if he didn't know what in the hell they were.

"And this must be Casey.”

The little girl was in the seat by the window. She raised her head shifting her attention from a pop-up storybook. "I'm gonna be six tomorrow, it's my birthday, and we're gonna visit grandpop and grandma They're real old, but they're nice.”

He laughed and said, "I'll bet they're sure proud to have a granddaughter cute as you.”

When Holly saw him coming along the starboard aisle, she was so startled that she almost popped out of her seat. At first she thought he was looking straight at her. She had the urge to start blurting out a confession "Yes, all right, I've been following you, checking up on you, invading your privacy with a vengeance"-even before he reached her. She knew precious few other reporters who would have felt guilty about probing into his life, but she couldn't seem to eliminate that streak of decency that had interfered with her career advancement ever since she'd gotten her journal ism degree. It almost wrecked everything for her again-until she realized he was looking not at her but at the brunette immediately in front of her Holly swallowed hard, and slid down a few inches in her seat instead of leaping up in a frenzy of confession. She picked up the airline's magazine which she'd previously discarded; slowly, deliberately she opened it to cover her face, afraid that too quick a move would draw his attention before she had concealed herself behind those glossy pages.

The magazine blocked her view of him, but she could hear everything he was saying and most of the woman's responses. She listened to him identify himself as Steve Harkman, a company ad executive, and wondered what his charade was all about.

She dared to tilt her head far enough to peek around the magazine with one eye. Ironheart was hunkered down in the aisle beside the woman's seat, so close that Holly could have spit on him, although she was no more practiced at target-spitting than she was at clandestine surveillance.

She realized her hands were trembling, making the magazine rattle softly. She untilted her head, stared at the pages in front of her, and concentrated on being calm.

"How on earth did you recognize me?" Christine Dubrovek asked.

"Well, Ed doesn't quite paper his office with pictures of you two," Jim said.

"Oh, that's right," she said.

"Listen, Mrs. Dubrovek-" "Call me Christine.”

"Thank you. Christine. I've got an ulterior motive for coming over here and pestering you like this. According to Ed, you've got a knack for matchmaking.”

That must have been the right thing to say. Already aglow, her sweet face brightened further. "Well, I do like getting people together if I think they're right for each other, and I've got to admit I've had more than a little success at it.”

"You make matches, Mommy?" Casey Dubrovek asked.

Uncannily in synch with the workings of her six-year-old's mind, Christine said, "Not the cigarette kind, honey.”

"Oh. Good," Casey said, then returned to her pop-up storybook.

"The thing is," Jim said, "I'm new in Los Angeles, been there only eight weeks, and I'm your classic, original lonely guy. I don't like singles' bars, don't want to buy a gym membership just to meet women, and figure anybody I'd connect with through a computer service has to be as desperate and messed up as I am.”

She laughed. "You don't look desperate or messed up to me.”

"Excuse me, sir," a stewardess said with friendly firmness, touching Jim's shoulder, "but I can't allow you to block the aisle.”

"Oh, sure, yeah," he said, standing up. "Just give me a minute.”

Then to Christine: "Listen, this is embarrassing, but I'd really like to talk to you, tell you about myself, what I'm looking for in a woman, and see if maybe you know someone.?" "Sure, I'd love that," Christine said with such enthusiasm that she was surely the reincarnation of either some hillbilly woman who had been a much sought-after troth-finder or a successful schatchen from Brooklyn.

"Hey, you know, the two seats next to mine are empty," he said "Maybe you could sit with me the rest of the way. ”

He expected her to be reluctant to give up window seats, and an unexpressable twist of anxiety knotted his stomach while he waited for her response.

But she hesitated for only a second or two. "Yes, why not.”

The stewardess, still hovering near them, nodded her approval.

To Jim, Christine said, "I thought Casey would like the scenery from way up here, but she doesn't seem to care much. Besides, we're almost in the back of the wing, and it blocks a lot of our view.”

Jim did not understand the reason for the wave of relief that swept through him when he secured her agreement to move, but a lot of things mystified him these days. "Good, great. Thank you, Christine.”