by Mel Curtis
The moment the car stopped, Esme opened her door. Unfortunately, Amanda did the same.
Spotting the fox fur, the protesters rushed forward, shouting and waving their signs as if they were going to hit Amanda. They had her surrounded before Esme could work her way around the car.
“Amanda, get back inside!” Esme grabbed people by their shoulders or their purse straps, thrusting them out of her way. A photographer twice her bulk wouldn’t budge. She kneed him in the butt, reached for his camera strap, and swung him behind her. She yanked a pint-sized woman by her ear and finally made it to Amanda’s side. “Get in!”
Taking advantage of the chaos, Esme pushed her client inside the car without finesse, shoved her away from the door, and then climbed in, too. “Go-go-go!”
The driver sped away amidst the thwack of hands and signs on the hood, roof, and trunk. And then they were free.
Esme took stock of Amanda. The fur had been ripped from her collar and it looked like someone had pulled her hair. “Are you okay?”
She looked dazed. The sharpness that Esme associated with her was gone. “I’m…I’m…They didn’t respect me. I’m Amanda Williams!” There was some of the actress’ fire.
“They consider you a killer of furry beasts. They don’t care that you once ruled the box office. They don’t even care that you’re old.” This last was calculated to shake Amanda out of shock.
Amanda didn't rise to the bait. Instead, she patted Esme’s hand. “I appreciate your honesty.”
Esme decided now wasn’t the time to argue about fur. “Most people just say I’m a pain in the ass.”
“You remind me of my daughter," Amanda admitted in a sorrowful voice. "Lacy died in 1998 of cancer. It seems like yesterday.” She stared out her window. “She was a pistol. Nothing was easy for her. Or so she thought.” Amanda tapped a manicured nail on the door handle. “It’s why I ask for you.”
“But…” Esme thought Daisy had been switching assignments because of her back.
“Do you know what it’s like to care for someone?” Amanda’s silky voice dropped to a single thread. “It gives you reason to get up in the morning.” She gazed at Esme with shock-glazed eyes. “You…You give me a reason to get up in the morning. Esme, I worry about you.”
Esme sat back in her seat and tried to process what she was saying. "This is your idea of mothering me? By putting me in danger?”
“I didn’t say I was a good mother.” Amanda's expression turned apologetic. “I might be a little bored, too. And I don’t have many friends.”
“You have money. You could take trips to places where they appreciate fur. Or go find yourself a younger man.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. Sin City?”
Amanda closed her eyes and let her head fall back on the seat. “I used to gamble, but nothing’s a sure thing.”
Esme’s skin prickled and her conscience had a mighty battle about right and wrong and boundaries and last chances. “Amanda…Mom…” That was laying it on thick. She tried again. “Amanda...How would you like to do me a favor?”
~*~
“Does no one respect a closed door?” Esme didn’t turn over in bed when she heard the door creak open. It was fight day. She had to be focused. “If Amanda called, you can tell her I’ll pick her up later.”
“Amanda didn’t call.” It was Pop, loud and looking for a fight if his tone was any indication.
Had he been sent the list again? Had he discovered she’d been deleting his emails?
Esme rolled over to face the music, however discordant it might be.
Pop had a sheet of paper in one hand. His legs seemed to be trembling more than usual. “I finally got the list of fighters from Harper’s event last week.”
“Oh.” A very small oh.
“One name stood out from the rest.” Pop lowered his voice. “You’ve been playing with fire.”
That was perhaps the understatement of her young life. “I’m sorry?” If only the tentative words could make up for the lies and deceptions and deletions. But the only thing that would do that was winning tonight’s bout. Amanda had agreed to place the bet. And hopefully, Pop wouldn’t learn about the fight until tomorrow.
“Is this what you want for yourself?” Pop pounded his wheelchair armrests with his fists.
“No. I did it for you. I put all my winnings in the account for you.”
Pop slumped in his chair. “Why?”
“Because you could have left us at any time after Mom died. You could have walked away and no one would fault you. Our grandparents love us, but they didn't want to raise us.” She stared into his familiar gray eyes, into the face of the man she’d called father for most of her life. “Nothing I could do would ever make up for the sacrifices you've made.” Esme put her feet on the floor and placed a hand on his knobby knee. “Nothing, but this.”
Chapter 11
“Graham.” Steve snapped his fingers in the air again and again. “I just said the Harpers accepted our offer and I got no response from you.”
“That’s great.” One hundred million less and he’d made the Harpers squirm. Graham should feel like celebrating. He sat on the couch and stared at the hotel bed through the open bedroom door. His rules made it clear. He wasn’t going after Esme. Graham hadn’t felt this empty since his grandfather had died.
“It’s that woman, isn’t it?” Steve shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable. Five days later and Steve was still hurting from Esme’s ass-whipping. “I mean the woman from the other night. She’s got into your head.”
It felt more like his heart. But Graham wasn’t going to discuss his failed love life with Steve. He still believed he’d made the right decision by stopping that fight, but he was sorry Esme didn’t see things his way.
“You need a distraction.” Steve reached for the file on E.R. Jones. “You never looked at this. It’s where I left it the other day.”
Having no real reason not to, Graham opened up the envelope and began to read. A cold feeling fisted in his chest. “She’s an orphan.”
“E.R.'s a ghost. No such person exists. Not for fourteen years.”
Graham didn’t argue. It’d take too long to explain. “It says here that her father was killed when she was eight and her mother when she was twelve.” Esme was an orphan. That’s why she didn’t look like Hank. That’s why saving Hank was so important to her. She didn’t want her father to wither away in a chair. She didn’t want to lose another parent. That’s why she was willing to put everything on the line. That’s why she’d been livid when she learned he’d stopped the fight.
“Hey,” Steve said. “I just got a text. There’s a rumor Kyle moved a last set of fights at the complex to tonight.”
“E.R.” Graham stood, staring not at the bedroom, but the suite’s front door. He’d hurt her there. “She’s retiring after this fight.” He recalled the desperation in her eyes, buried deep beneath the shield of angry determination. The way she charged her opponent as if she had to win quickly. Because of her back… “I need to be there.”
“I can make some calls.” Steve picked up his phone. “But they’re not going to let us in, much less let you put a halt to things.”
Graham paced some more and then stopped, facing the front door. “I know how we can get in.”
~*~
“Esme?” It was Amanda. She opened the door to the empty office in Building C of the Harper Complex where Esme lay on the floor, trying to complete her pre-fight ritual. “Esme?” Amanda flipped the light on.
Esme squinted. “Don’t call me that. You shouldn’t be in here.”
“E.R.” Amanda closed the door behind her. She wore a black blazer, black leather mini skirt, black tights and ankle boots. “We have a problem.”
“Did Kyle take the bet?”
“There were…contingencies.” Amanda looked as if Esme had already lost the fight.
Esme’s stomach clenched. “Tell me.”
“He w
ould only accept the bet if you lasted three rounds. And then won.”
Three rounds with the hammer fists of Sarah? For the first time in her fight career, Esme felt doubt, just a niggle, but when added to the memory of the pain when Graham pushed her against the door, it left an unpleasant taste at the back of her throat and a numbness at the base of her spine. “But you took the bet?”
“I had no choice. He was laughing at me.” Amanda turned her defeated expression into that of an angry, regal queen, one who didn’t age. “That man…Well, he made me want to punch something.”
“I know the feeling.” Esme shifted, stretching her back, not that it would protect her compressed spine, but it always made her feel calmer inside.
“He offered me a front row seat.” Amanda knelt beside her, old knees popping. “I think he expects me to disappear if we lose.”
We. Esme hadn’t heard that when talking about a fight since the accident. “I won’t lose.”
“But – ”
“You need to go down and play it cool, act like a high roller.” Act being the key word.
Amanda stood, straightening her short blazer, smoothing the non-existent creases in her leather skirt. “I can act.” And then she gazed down at Esme. Fear etched her features more clearly than if they’d been made with a fine, permanent marker. “They say this fighter used to be a man. I know you’re tough, but…” She drew a shuddering breath. “Lacy…My daughter…She used to be tough, too.”
But Lacy had died of cancer. That required a different kind of tough.
With a heavy sigh, Esme got to her feet and hugged Amanda. “I need you to be strong for me now. I can’t be worried about you when I’m in the cage.” For three frickin’ rounds!
At least Graham wouldn’t be here to witness the fight. She couldn’t bear to see the lack of confidence in his face. He didn’t think she could beat Sarah.
“I won’t let you down.” Amanda held Esme at arms’ length. “You’re a strong, beautiful woman…Just the way you are.”
That was saying a lot given Esme had dyed her hair yellow and had on her raccoon eyeliner. It was a lot given Amanda had spent the past six months prodding Esme to lose weight.
“Now, go out and win this. I don’t want my first fight experience to be a downer.” Amanda blew out a breath, and transformed herself into a woman who had no doubts the bet she'd placed wouldn’t pay. She looked taller, sexier, more confident.
“Damn,” Esme said after she’d left. She could use some of that veneer.
Esme stared at the floor. It was too late to try to relive the memories. Rage wouldn’t help her beat Sarah. Strategy would. Too bad strategy wasn’t really her forte. That’s what coaches were for.
For the first time in five months, Esme wished Pop was in her corner.
~*~
“You couldn’t resist one last event, could you?” Graham stopped in front of Kyle, wishing he could punch him.
“I couldn’t.” The superior grin on Kyle’s face would have cut the thin cord on Graham’s patience if not for one thing.
Graham stepped to one side. “I thought your dad should see this.” See what his son was really like and realize Kyle wasn’t worthy of the Harper throne.
Kyle blanched. He’d probably thought Graham had Steve at his back, but slow-moving Steve had stayed at the hotel.
“If you're going to risk my name and fortune, I’ve got to be here.” Ryan took a seat next to his son.
“You can still stop this,” Graham counseled, knowing these two morons wouldn’t see reason. They were scared of losing, scared of anything that wasn’t a sure thing, even if it meant taking advantage of others.
On the other side of Kyle, an elderly woman shook her head, as if that was her high sign for: no, the show must go on.
Ryan, the coward, said nothing.
“What’s wrong, Graham? Afraid your favorite fighter will finally lose?” True to form, in the face of defeat, Kyle was an asshole.
Graham knew Esme wouldn’t lose. She had too much to fight for. He should never have tried to make that choice for her. “I hope you bet on her to lose again, Kyle. I hope you bet big.”
The elderly woman nodded approvingly and sat back.
Graham took a seat next to Ryan and began a silent conversation with God and Karma and the Universe. Whoever listened to silent prayers: Keep Esme safe. She was more than a one night stand or a willing and capable sexual partner. Esme was strong and had heart and stood up for what she believed in. Graham could see working on a future with her.
And then a cold feeling settled in his veins.
What if Esme hadn’t found someone to place her bet?
Graham turned to the man he’d hated for more than a decade. “Care to make a wager, Ryan?”
~*~
Esme should have chosen different music. Back in Black seemed rather ominous for this fight.
She followed the velvet rope to the cage beneath her. There was Kyle in his usual front row seat with Amanda beside him, looking as haughty as if she came to fights every day and this one bored her.
A dark head rose above the rest. Graham?
Esme almost faltered. Why was he here?
He mouthed something that looked like “Good luck” – but was probably “God’s speed” – and shook hands with a man Esme had never seen before. The two men glared at each other. Not exactly a friendly first meet handshake. But that could only mean…
He was betting? On who?
Esme wanted to rewind the tape that was her life. She wanted to go back to the empty office upstairs and regain her rage, her dispassion, her single-minded focus. But the rage sometimes felt too much for her – too heavy, too violent, too dark. It was time to let the rage go. To let E.R. disappear forever.
Sarah bounced around inside, punching the air with such speed, Esme could swear she heard the air hiss.
Fine time to discover a kinder, gentler Esme.
A wheelchair moved to block her path to the door. “You didn’t think you were going to do this alone, did you?”
“Pop.” Esme almost fell into his arms. But E.R. Jones didn’t show any weakness. Instead, she gave him a fist bump.
“At the risk of sounding like a stupid movie you made me watch too many times.” Pop’s brows were thunderously low. “Dip, duck, and dodge. That bitch has a right hook that’ll feel like a set of brass knuckles if she connects.”
Esme nodded and removed her robe.
“Emerald,” Pop said gruffly, calling her by her given name. “Your mother would be proud.”
Esme nodded, slower this time, and kicked aside her flip-flops. She was about to enter the ring when she turned back, leaned over and kissed Pop’s cheek. To hell with E.R.’s reputation. “Love you, Dad.”
He gave her a grin as easy as the Cheerios he had for breakfast every day. “See you in the winner’s circle, E.R.”
The emcee made his announcements and then messed with protocol. “Any last words?”
Sarah grabbed the microphone. “I’m gonna kick this fat bitch’s ass.”
Esme backed toward her corner, tightened her gloves and put in her mouth guard. Of all the things Sarah could have said to her, calling her fat was the poorest choice. How about some solidarity, sister?
Uh, no. Sarah had probably been a dick when she was Samuel. That didn’t change with a gender reassignment.
Anger shook her limbs into fluid bands of steel, it shook out the doubt and the hesitation. She hadn’t lost a bout and she wasn’t going to now, because she had skill and strength and her dad in her corner.
The bell rang and Sarah charged. Esme did the same, until the last moment when she contorted her body to sweep Sarah’s legs out from under her. Then she pounced on top of her lanky opponent and began to punch.
~*~
The bell signaling the end of the first round had the crowd booing. They wanted Esme to win the way she usually did. Fast. Esme would have liked that, too. She was winded and her body was protesting some
of Sarah’s blows. She doubted she could have taken Sarah down the way she had her other opponents.
Hands pressed a water bottle into hers. “Nice to see you’ve still got it.” Daisy’s voice. Her smiling face, framed by all that white-blond hair. At Esme’s raised brow, she shrugged. “You think Pop didn’t teach me how to find you two with my GPS tracker? I had to kick the shit out of some frat boy at the door to get in here. I came to see you win.”
She’d have to wait a while longer, but her sister’s confidence buoyed Esme. She drank deeply from the water bottle.
“Her legs are weaker than yours.” Pop gripped the cage fencing. “And she’s dominant right. Make her shift left and bring her down.”
“Yeah,” Daisy seconded, taking back the water bottle. “Knock that skinny bitch on her ass.”
~*~
“Worried, Graham?” Kyle taunted, causing his father to frown. “E.R.’s never gone to the second round before.”
“Afraid you’ll lose your money?” Graham wasn’t. He was only worried that Esme might get hurt. He’d slammed her shoulders against the door. What if Sarah dropped her on her back?
The little old lady slugged Kyle’s arm. “Stop being an asshole. Didn’t your father teach you any manners?”
“I’m his father,” Ryan said rigidly.
“Well, don’t cut off his purse strings, because he’s going to owe me a lot of money when Es…E.R. kicks that brute’s butt.”
Graham didn’t try to hide his grin.
Apparently, Esme had found someone to place a bet for her.
~*~
At the end of round two, Esme’s left eye was nearly swollen shut. She moved to her corner gingerly. Just before the bell, Sarah had landed a snap kick to her lower back that had given her spasms.
“Any advice?” Esme asked before her corner could ask her to forfeit. “I could use a little help here.”
“Ten second rule,” Daisy said simply.
