Ten
Saylor
“I like Travis,” Lucy says as she skips along the sidewalk while holding my hand. The arm-jerking motion is wearing, but I allow her to do this. I like Travis, too, but I don’t tell her that. She has never seen me with a man, and honestly I don’t know how I would explain dating to her if I were to start. She’s always been my priority, aside from my job.
“He’s nice,” I tell her.
“Is he coming over for dinner?”
“No. I’m sure he’s having dinner at his own house.” Which, according to his press release, is probably takeout from the local Chinese restaurant like the other day.
“We should invite him over. I think he would like chicken fingers,” Lucy says, as if everyone in the world loves chicken fingers. Thankfully, we arrive at her school, and her suggestion is thwarted.
“Have a good day, sweetie. Grandma will pick you up later.” I kiss her on the nose and wait for her to move toward her cubby.
“Maybe my new friend Travis can pick me up.”
I groan internally and make a mental note to thank Travis…for what, I don’t know. Lucy is five and infatuated with everything new that comes into her life. By the time I get home from work tonight, she’ll have forgotten about Travis, and we can move on.
Except after last night, I’m torn. He makes me want to try with him, but it’s impossible. I’d have to give up my job, and while others may be able to do this and have another job waiting in the wings for them, my reputation would be tarnished. I don’t think he understands that. And he can’t give up his, not that I would ever ask him to. I have to accept the fact that everything between us needs to remain professional.
I wave at Lucy, and she reminds me to ask Travis to dinner by yelling across her classroom. I try not to roll my eyes at the thought, but there’s no way in hell I’m inviting him over. Last night was a fluke. He came to me in a time of need, and hopefully he won’t do it again, even if I want him to.
As I walk among the crowds of people trying to make it to work, my phone rings with an unknown number. It’s not uncommon, and usually I send them to voice mail, but with the case against Travis and my determination to paint him in a bright, shining light, I answer. “Saylor Blackwell.”
“Hello, Saylor.”
I abruptly stop, and the person behind me crashes into me. He mumbles something unintelligible, and all I can do is offer him a smile in return while I hold my phone to my ear.
I haven’t heard the voice of Elijah Henry in years. Not since I told him I was pregnant, to which he replied, “I’m married.” For eight months we dated, attending social events throughout the city, hand in hand, posing for pictures that made the front page of the newspaper. The prominent lawyer from Virginia who came to Boston to teach for a semester caught my eye. I was in my second year of law school when we met, and I fell in love hard.
Our romance was a whirlwind, fairy-tale story. I moved out of my drafty loft and into his high-rise penthouse. He helped me study and ace my exams and took me on a cruise for Christmas. Even though we had just begun dating, I expected a ring. He had hinted at it a few times, and I tried not to let my sadness show when he placed a diamond necklace around my neck instead.
Absentmindedly, my hand goes to my neck to feel for the necklace that no longer hangs there. When he left, I had no choice but to sell it. I was homeless, without a job, scared, and pregnant. If my mother hadn’t moved to Boston, I don’t know what I would’ve done.
“Saylor?” He says my name again, but this time with a sigh. I don’t care if I’m making him wait. I need to get over the shock of hearing his voice. I need the memories of him to stop flooding back so I can focus on why he’s calling. Lucy. He wants to see her, according to the letter he wrote.
“What do you want, Elijah?”
“Is that any way to treat me?”
I scoff and blurt out, “Yes, it is.” I don’t need to remind him that he left me, that he cheated on me with another woman and married her while we were still together. He bed hopped, going from her to me, and never thought once about how that would make me feel. There’s a part of me that thinks if I hadn’t gotten pregnant with Lucy, we’d still be together, living a lie.
“Look, what happened in the past…it’s water under the bridge.”
“What do you want, Elijah? I’m busy, and now isn’t a good time.”
“Make the time, Saylor. I’ll be in town at the end of the week, and I want to see you.”
So he wants to see me, not Lucy? Not that I want him seeing her, but why doesn’t he ask about her? I start walking again and head toward my train station.
“I’m about to enter the station. I’ll call you later,” I tell him, hoping that he gets the hint.
“I’ll call you when I land,” he says as he hangs up. I squeeze my phone in my hand and grunt. People stare, but it doesn’t bother me. I have no doubt they can see how angry I am. Someday I want to grow up and be like Elijah. Be someone who doesn’t care about anyone, bosses people around, and has my demands met. Best of all, what would it be like to go through life and not have a care in the world? It must take a lot of brass balls to be someone like that.
Instead of heading to work, I take the train to Irvin Abbott’s office. He wants to meet and go over Travis’s case. Technically, I don’t have to be there, and under the circumstances, I wish I weren’t. My job is to make Travis look good, to remind the community of the man he is when they need him the most. As much as I loved studying law, Elijah ruined that for me.
Abbott and Abbott is a family-run business with an impressive client list. They represent mostly actors, politicians, and athletes. The receptionist greets me by name when I walk in and tells me that Irvin is going to meet me in conference room 3. I’ve been here enough times to know where the conference rooms are and easily make my way to our meeting point.
I’m the first one to arrive, and that affords me the opportunity to decompress. I’m still reeling from my phone call earlier, and knowing that Elijah is coming to Boston has me on edge. Never mind the fact that it’s close to Christmas break for Lucy, and I have a feeling he’s going to ask to take her back to Virginia for a visit. The answer, of course, would be no, but he knows I don’t have the money to fight him in court.
Irvin walks in with nothing more than a folder and laptop in his hand. Usually, his arms are stacked with books and he’s trying to balance a cup of coffee.
“I see you’re missing a few files,” I say in greeting.
“Yeah,” he says, looking flustered. “This is something new the office is trying. You know, to go green.” By the look on his face, he doesn’t seem too impressed. I happen to agree with the initiative but would find it hard to go paperless if I were practicing law.
“So what can I do for you today, Mr. Abbott?” Over the years, he’s asked me to call him Irvin.
He waves his hand, as if dismissing my comment. “Please, call me Irvin. Mr. Abbott is my father. Word from the DA’s office is that the rape kit is coming back today, and they’ll subpoena Travis for a DNA sample,” he says, sighing. “We’ll comply, but I want to make sure that the media sees him going in, and have him answer a few questions as he walks by the reporters.”
I look at him questioningly, wondering why he’d subject Travis to something like this. “I’ll bite. Tell me why, because I’m not so sure this is in his best interests.”
Irvin opens the folder and slides a single sheet of paper over to me. It’s a list, numbered one through twenty, starting with Jane Doe 1. My hand covers my mouth as my eyes scan over each entry.
“Surely this can’t be serious.”
“I’m afraid so, and each story is worse than the previous. The DA hasn’t given me the names yet, but he’ll have to if he arrests Travis. I have a feeling he’s building a case, and if he can’t nail Travis on the first charge, he has nineteen others waiting in the wings.”
The list makes my stomach revolt, and I excuse myself to the b
athroom. Inside, I wait for the contents of my breakfast, the one Travis had delivered for us, to come back up, but it never happens. The bathroom is quiet, and I use the peacefulness to look at myself in the mirror. My fingers trace over my lips, remembering the way he kissed me yesterday, and last night. My eyes close as I recall the way he held me and fell asleep with his arm wrapped around me. I’ve told him no, repeatedly, and he hasn’t forced himself on me. I had him in my home, sleeping on my couch, and he didn’t do anything to make me feel uncomfortable.
I could clear his name of the first allegation, but not the others. And one may not be enough to make this all go away.
When I get back to the conference room, Travis is there. His head is downcast, and when he looks up at me, his eyes are bloodshot. This is not the man who left my house hours ago.
“Sorry about that,” I say, taking my seat, and thankful that Travis is across from me. “When do you expect him to be subpoenaed?”
“Tomorrow. Knowing the DA, he’ll hold a press conference first thing in the morning while the police go to pick up Travis.” The thought of Travis being escorted out of his house by police sickens me.
“What if we beat them to the punch?”
“What do you mean?” Irvin asks.
“Travis voluntarily gives his DNA. We’ll hold a press conference at the clinic, where he publicly tells everyone that he’s not guilty and is going to prove it.”
I look to both Irvin and Travis for their approval. It’s risky, but the preemptive strike by Travis will show everyone that he has nothing to hide.
“I’ll do it,” Travis says. “I’ve been waiting to tell my side of the story.”
“You won’t say anything that isn’t scripted,” I tell him. “This has to be straight and to the point, no questions. And you know what, we’ll do it at the station where you went in for questioning. The media will have a field day with this. No one ever voluntarily gives DNA.”
“It’s risky,” Irvin says.
“The only risk is if Travis raped the accuser. He says he didn’t, and I believe him. These other women, unless they had rape kits done, won’t have his DNA, and the evidence will be unsubstantiated.”
Irvin stands and paces the room. Each pass by, he huffs, as if this is his way of contemplating. I try not to stare at Travis, but his eyes are boring into mine. Gone is the sweet man who entertained my five-year-old this morning, and in his place is a man who is watching his life slip away. I may not be able to come clean about what I know, but I can do this. I can bring him in front of the camera and show the world that he’s not the monster the state’s attorney is making him out to be.
“You’ll stay on script?” Irvin asks Travis, who nods eagerly. “I don’t like it, but it’s better than the police showing up at his door.”
“Great, I’ll get to work.”
Eleven
Travis
“Are you ready?” Saylor asks after she’s closed her laptop. For the past few minutes, I have watched her multitask like crazy. She went from her phone to her computer without losing focus. “I sent your speech to your phone. Read it. Know it. You want to sound confident and self-assured. Let the people see the same Travis Kidd that they see on the field. The one facing his nemesis when the game is on the line.”
I nod, but I’m not so sure that I am any of those things she listed. Irvin leads us out of the office, and I follow behind, watching the sway of Saylor’s ass in her skirt. Days ago, I would’ve reached out and tapped her rear to get her attention, but now I can’t do that. I can no longer be the person I was because of what this rape accusation is doing to me. Even after I’m proven not guilty, people will be waiting for me to fuck up. All eyes will be on me, watching my every move. The Travis Kidd who could joke with women, pick them up in bars, and have a good time with them is dead. A new one has to take his place, because this shit isn’t worth it.
Saylor and I wait outside while Irvin takes care of something in his office. We stand side by side, pretending that there isn’t any tension between us. I put my hands in my pockets and let out a sigh, hoping to get her attention. When she doesn’t look at me, I decide I’ve had enough. “You’re fucking sexy when you work.”
“Excuse me?” She finally looks at me for the first time since we’ve stepped outside. I move closer to her and lean in, inhaling her perfume. The fresh scent of gardenia mixed with honey sends a jolt to my crotch. I want to spend hours nuzzling her neck until I smell like her.
“Back there in the office, when I said I had something to tell you and would tell you later. That was it. Watching you in action is mesmerizing. Have dinner with me tonight?”
She shakes her head.
“Why not?”
“Because I have a standing dinner date with Lucy.”
“So bring her, too,” I tell her. I know what comes with dating a single mom, and I’m game for it. Lucy is a kick-ass kid and had me in stitches this morning.
“We can’t, Travis. It’s crossing the line.”
I look away, pissed that she keeps bringing up this imaginary line. Doesn’t she understand that I want to get to know her? That the person being accused of this horrible crime isn’t me?
Before I can say anything else, Irvin comes out, talking on his phone. Saylor falls in step behind him, and once again I’m following behind her. Only now I can’t watch her ass, because her black wool coat covers it.
We pile into Irvin’s car, with Saylor and me in the backseat while Irvin stays up front. He tells his driver to take us to the police station, and my stomach drops. I start reading through the words that Saylor penned for me, as the dread continues to grow. What if I’m making a mistake by giving them my DNA? What if this backfires? “What if this isn’t a good idea? What if I’m setting myself up?”
“Did you rape her, Travis?” Saylor asks, looking square into my eyes.
“No, I didn’t. You know I didn’t.”
She looks away and nods. “You’ll be fine.”
“And what if I’m not, Saylor? We could walk into that police station and give a statement, and this whole thing goes away.”
Saylor turns and glares at me. Her eyes then fall on Irvin, who is still on the phone. She shakes her head and pulls her coat tighter around her. “You won’t understand.”
“Try me, because right now I’m scared fucking shitless to walk into that station.”
“You have nothing to worry about,” she whispers.
“Right. That’s really easy for you to say. You can clear my name, and yet you keep telling me that you can’t. If there is something wrong, then let me help.”
Her head turns toward the window, effectively shutting me out. I want to punch the seat in front of me but hold back. The driver didn’t do anything to warrant my anger. Saylor has, though, and I want to know what is going on in her world that she’s willing to let me go down in a blaze when she knows she could help me.
As soon as we pull up to the police station, many media agencies are outside and ready. Saylor laughs, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why.
“What’s so funny?”
She nods toward the station. “I’m willing to bet that officer has been tasked with keeping the media in order. Not an easy task sometimes.”
I frown as I get out of the car and run around the back to Saylor’s door to help her out. As I reach for her, she sets her hand in mine, and I close my hand around hers. She stands, chest to chest with me, and even in her heels, she’s still shorter.
“Let me in,” I plead. It’s not because I need her to clear my name but because I want to get to know her. Waking up in her house, even though it was on a couch, was the best thing that has happened to me in a long time.
“I can’t.”
Saylor steps away, and my only condolence is that I get to watch her walk up the steps. I follow quickly and take my place next to her as she stands in front of the camera marked ESPN.
“Thank you for coming here on short notice. My clien
t Travis Kidd has a statement to make. Once he has concluded, I will take only a few questions related to his statement.”
Saylor steps away and motions for me to start. I have what I’m supposed to say memorized, but the words seem fuzzy in my brain. The cameras start flashing, and I imagine the video feeds are rolling.
“For days, I have kept my silence while the police investigated me on the accusation of rape. I’m here today, of my own accord, just like I was when they questioned me, to submit my DNA sample. I want to clear my name, and this is the way to do it. Thank you.”
Immediately my name is called out, and questions are thrown my way. Saylor stands front and center, poised and perfect.
“Paul,” she says, pointing at the man whom others are surrounding.
“Travis, have you met with the Renegades? What’s your status on the team?”
Saylor nods, so I answer. “We’ve met, and I’m an active member of the team.”
Once I finish, the questions are once again being yelled at me.
“June,” Saylor says, signaling to a woman off to the side.
“Travis, your name has been added to the Cancer Center’s annual ball. Can you confirm that you’ll be in attendance?”
I give Saylor a sideways glance to see if I’m going. She nods. “Yes, I’ll be there.”
“Kenny.” Saylor points to a man in the back. There’s something about his face that makes me feel uneasy.
“Travis, you have twenty women coming forward, stating you’ve raped them. Why would you voluntarily give your DNA? Why implicate yourself?”
My hands grip the sides of the podium, and my teeth clench. Saylor rests a reassuring hand on my back but I still can’t find the words to answer. I want to yell out that I’m innocent, that the only thing I’ve done wrong is become a womanizer, but the words escape me.
Grand Slam Page 7
