With that, Eric resumed his happy pacing in front of the studio.
“Do you believe this?”
Monica’s question was addressed to Gloria, who was spending the night at Monica’s after a leak in her upstairs neighbor’s apartment had caused the ceiling above Gloria’s bed to cave in. They were watching the late news when Monica heard her name mentioned while channel surfing, and she stopped. “Blades fans made no secret of their feelings about Eric Mitchell’s recent breakup with soap actress Monica Geary at tonight’s game against Philly,” said the greasy-haired, mulleted hockey correspondent from ESPN. The news then cut to footage of that night’s game at Met Gar, where fans were chanting, “Mon-ica! Mon-ica! Take Eric back!” over and over. Monica’s mouth fell open.
Gloria was grinning. “This is fantastic!”
“You’re as deluded as he is.”
Monica turned off the TV. She couldn’t believe Eric was doing this. What was next? Presenting her with a petition from the fans?
Gloria sighed, stretching out her long, bony legs from beneath her red silk robe and flexing her veiny feet. “You must have a heart of stone. I don’t see how you can fail to be charmed.”
“I don’t have a heart of stone,” Monica said quietly. The truth was, she was charmed. She was also frightened of being burned again. The fans knew she was the team’s good luck charm; that was probably the reason they wanted her back. Hell, that was probably the real reason he wanted her back. Jerk.
“Monica, darling, I’m talking to you.”
“I know, Glo. I’m sorry. The Eric thing . . . it’s complicated.”
“Explain.”
“My whole relationship with him was fake at the beginning. We both wanted to up our profile.”
Gloria seemed unfazed. “Big deal. Why do you think I went out with Jack Palance in the mid-sixties? We both needed a career boost. People do that all the time.”
“Yes, but then it turned real, at least for me. He said it was real for him, too.” Monica tucked her legs in tighter. “But he was lying.” She told Gloria what she’d overheard Eric telling his friends at the charity ball. Gloria clucked her tongue.
“So he was trying to save face with his goon friends. Clearly, it was real for him. Why else would be walking up and down in front on the studio baring his soul to the world?”
Monica rubbed the crick beginning in her neck. “I know, I know.” She looked into her friend’s eyes. “Would you take him back?”
“Yes. To love is to risk the pain of loss. But it’s a risk that’s worth taking. God knows I’ve taken it more times than I care to recount.”
“Then why don’t you risk becoming friends with Monty again?”
Gloria laughed softly.
“I saw him last week,” Monica continued. “He told me one of the greatest regrets in his life was not standing up for you.”
Gloria looked to the blank TV screen. “We haven’t spoken in years, Monica. I suspect we’d have very little to say to each other.”
“I think you’re wrong. I think you’d have a lot to say to each other. You always ask about him, and he always asks about you. How can you encourage me to forgive when you won’t?”
Gloria was silent.
“Life is too short,” Monica continued.
“One could say the same to you, though in my case, it’s too true. I’ll probably be dead in ten years.”
“Don’t say that!”
“Well, it’s true,” Gloria said without the slightest hint of upset. “And that would be fine. I’ve led a wonderful life. And when you’ve reached the end, I want you to be able to say the same thing.”
Monica slowly unfurled her legs as she stared down into her lap. “I have so far. But I don’t think I’m ready to forgive Eric, not yet.”
“That’s your choice, my dear. But I’d think about it long and hard if I were you. I let too many good men slip through my fingers over the years, and now look at me: alone in my dotage. I don’t want that to happen to you. Now put the damn TV back on so I can channel surf for my old beaus.”
TWENTY-THREE
“Well?” Delilah asked quietly. “Have you thought about the offer?”
Eric was sitting with Jason, Delilah, and his parents in his folks’ dining room.
Jason had suggested it might be better if Delilah opened up the discussion with their parents, and Eric agreed. Their folks adored her; plus, it might soften what would no doubt be an emotional discussion. Dinner was over, and they’d all run out of small talk. Delilah had used the gap to break the ice.
Dick and Jane exchanged telling glances, their faces etched with discomfort, their eyes asking each other, Which of us will speak? Which of us will tell them? In the end, it was Jane who answered, which didn’t surprise Eric in the least. His mom’s family had built this farm; Jane’s attachment to it was greater than anyone’s.
“We’re going to sell to you boys. That way, the house and the land will at least stay in the family, even though it will no longer be a working farm.”
Eric tried to read his father’s face: stoic as ever.
“You’re sure about this?” Jason double-checked.
“Very sure,” Jane said calmly. Then she burst into tears.
Eric, sitting next to her, dragged his chair so it was right beside hers and put his arms around her. “It’s okay, Mom. We know how tough this must be for you. But like you said, at least it will stay in the family.”
“Yes,” Jane said softly, sounding like she was trying to convince herself more than anyone else. “Yes, that’s the most important thing.”
Eric looked across the table at his father. “You okay?”
Dick nodded, his face still impassive.
Calmer now, Jane broke her embrace from Eric. “Dick, tell them the rest.”
“We’ll auction off the livestock,” Dick explained. “But we won’t let you pay more than market price for the house.”
“Wait a minute,” Jason protested. “Auctioning off the livestock is fine. But the real estate market is in the toilet. We’ll decide what to pay for the house and the land, not you.”
“We don’t need charity,” Dick snapped.
“It’s not charity,” Eric replied firmly but with obvious affection, trying to soothe everyone’s rapidly fraying nerves. “It’s gratitude for giving us a great life here growing up. You’ve worked yourselves to the bone all your lives. Now it’s your turn to relax and have some fun. Buy that RV you’ve always dreamed of and travel around the country.”
“Eric’s right, Dad,” Delilah added.
Jane looked hopefully at Dick. “The boys are right.”
Dick drained his coffee cup, slamming it back down on the saucer. “I don’t want to live in a damn trailer on wheels.”
“We’re not going to live in it, Dick,” their mother said with mild exasperation. “We’re going to travel in it. We can buy a smaller house close to here so we can see the boys in the summer.”
“That sounds wonderful,” said Delilah.
“We’ve already been over this,” Jane reminded her husband. “Why are you getting so ornery all of a sudden?”
“Who the hell wants to retire?” asked Dick. “Not me.”
“Tell me what the hell else we can do, mister,” Jane challenged. “We can’t afford to keep the farm.”
“I know that,” he said in a resigned tone. “But I can’t stand the thought of being useless. Can you at least understand that, Jane?”
“You can find something else to do,” Jane insisted.
“What? Work as a greeter in Wal-Mart?”
Eric and Jason glanced at each other covertly. Eric was pretty sure neither of them had ever heard their parents argue. Sure, they’d heard the occasional angry whispers down in the kitchen when they were kids and were supposed to be asleep, but that was it. It felt weird and uncomfortable.
“I can’t believe you’re bringing this up now,” Jane said, glaring at her husband. “I thought we were in ag
reement about selling to the boys.”
Dick pushed back from the table and walked out of the kitchen into the yard.
“I think he needs more time to process this,” Jason offered tentatively.
“No, he doesn’t,” said Jane. “He’s just a stubborn old fool who refuses to see reality.”
“It’s a pride issue, Mom,” said Eric. “He feels like he’s failed somehow.”
“Look, there’s no rush on this,” said Jason. “We can do it whenever you guys are ready.”
“We’re ready,” Jane insisted. “I just need to give your father a swift kick in the pants.”
Eric and Jason both smiled nostalgically. “A swift kick in the pants” was one of her favorite expressions, especially when it came to their father. Eric had no doubt his mother would set his father straight. Sweet and loving as their mother was, she’d always been the stronger one, the one who ruled the roost.
“Excuse me,” said Jane, following their father outside. Eric knew they’d have their chat in the barn so “the kids” couldn’t hear.
Jason regarded Eric uneasily. “What do you think?”
“They’ll go along with it,” Eric assured him. “I think Dad’s just freaking out a bit about making a major change. They’ve lived and worked here all their lives.”
“You’re right.”
Eric began clearing the table, and Delilah moved to help him. “Anything new with Monica?” she asked.
“No.”
He had no idea if Monica had seen the footage of the fans chanting her name. Maybe he should have Lou’s office make a DVD and send it to her?
“I’d keep trying,” said Delilah, ever the optimist.
“Yeah? And at what point do I stop because it’s become pathetic?”
“You have to go with your gut on that one.”
Eric was glad he was standing behind Delilah so she couldn’t see him roll his eyes. He hated going with his gut. His gut was an empty, clueless black hole. All he knew was he loved Monica, and he wanted her back, but so far it wasn’t working. Still, he’d keep trying. And it wasn’t his gut telling him that, either.
It was his heart.
TWENTY-FOUR
Was it possible to love and hate at the same time? Monica wondered as she hung up the phone following a conversation with Theresa, who’d been fielding calls left and right from the media, wanting to know if Monica was willing to talk about Eric’s tactics to win her back. Monica’s unequivocal answer? No. She loved the continued media coverage, but she hated the way it was embarrassing her. Yes, Eric was creative, but encountering Blades fans in the streets that chanted, “Take! Eric! Back!” at her was beginning to pluck on her already frayed nerves.
Even so, Monica couldn’t resist tuning in to the next Blades home game, if only to stop herself thinking about work. Chesty was now getting the lion’s share of the dialogue in their scenes, while Monica’s character was being slowly pushed out of the spotlight. These things tended to go in cycles, but Monica still found it so unnerving that Eric and the Blades were a welcome diversion.
The pregame warm-up was beginning. One by one, the players skated out onto the ice and began circling. Cheers went up when certain players emerged. Monica loved seeing the kids pressing right up against the Plexiglas, getting an up close view and hoping one of the players would flip a puck to them.
Eric skated out, and Monica could hear the early arrivals start chanting, “Monica! Monica! Take! Eric! Back!” She blushed, even though she was sitting all alone in her apartment. Eric waved, and a bigger cheer went up. The camera cut to the two hockey commentators from the Met Gar channel.
“The Blades are really going all out to help Eric win back Monica Geary,” said the one who looked like a walrus. “Take a close look at the guys on the bench.”
The camera cut to the home bench, panning its length. Every player on the team had an M sewn onto his jersey where the C or A for the captain or assistant captain usually went. Monica felt her heart lurch.
“Do you think it will work?” asked the balding commentator with the beaky nose.
“I hope so. The Blades need to turn their luck around.”
“Maybe Eric’s wearing his heart on his sleeve—or should I say, on his chest,” chuckled the walrus guy, “will do the trick. It’s sure brought the team together.”
A flash of heat licked its way up Monica’s body as the game began. God, he really did want her back; look at how foolish and desperate he was willing to appear. She focused on Eric when he hit the ice. Initially she’d been convinced he only wanted to reunite so he wasn’t awful on the ice anymore. But more and more, it was obvious that wasn’t the case—or was just a small part of it, anyway.
She hated to admit it, but she missed going to the games and getting cheered. And she missed watching him, even though she still didn’t know what was going on half the time.
She looked up as Gloria came out of the spare bathroom to join her on the couch, her face slathered in cold cream. Monica loved her dearly, but she hoped Gloria’s apartment was repaired soon. She was used to living on her own, to being quiet when she needed to be quiet. Gloria liked to talk all the time.
Gloria sighed as she sank down beside Monica. “For someone who claims not to give a tinker’s damn about that little Hottentot, you certainly watch a lot of hockey.”
“He asked me to watch tonight’s game. There was something he wanted me to see.”
“What’s that?”
“See if you can figure it out.”
Gloria squinted hard at the television. “Haven’t a clue.”
“Most of the Blades are wearing Ms on their jerseys for Monica.”
Gloria squinted again. “Oh, my. You’re right.” She put her hand over her heart. “That’s so sweet that they’re all helping him to get you back.”
“It’s only because he’s been playing really badly since we split. They’re all superstitious and think I’m some kind of living good luck charm.”
“Dear God, you are so naïve when it comes to machismo,” said Gloria with a cluck of the tongue. “That’s what they tell themselves and each other: that it’s because of their play. They can’t admit they actually have feelings.”
Monica made a sour face and went back to watching the game, pretending Gloria wasn’t there. Perhaps, taking a cue from how hard Monica was concentrating, Gloria was largely silent, except when a break in the action came and some fans resumed the chant: “Monica! Monica! Take! Eric! Back!”
Gloria turned to her. “Monica! Monica! Take! Eric! Back!”
Monica squirmed and said nothing. The Blades didn’t play poorly, earning a tie at the end of regulation. But then they gave up a goal in the five-minute overtime. Skating off the ice, the players looked as dejected as the fans. Monica switched off the TV, the fans’ chant now embedded in her head, repeating itself over and over. It was ridiculous, but she was beginning to feel that she was responsible in part for the Blades’ slump. As if you’re that powerful, she chided herself. You’re just as egotistical as he is.
She and Gloria rose simultaneously.
“Well, good night, my dear,” said Gloria, covering her mouth as she yawned. “Enjoy sleeping all alone in that big bed of yours.”
Monica glared at her, said good night, and went to her room, where she spent the night staring at the ceiling. The next morning, she was as fresh-faced and professional as ever on the set, even though she was only in two scenes and had two lines. She’d adopted her own chant these days: “These things go in cycles.” Interesting that both she and Eric were having a downward swing these days. Christian might be trimming her role on the show, but her ratings were as high as ever. Chesty’s ratings showed she was barely registering a blip with viewers. That which does not kill me makes me stronger, Monica told herself as she left the set hours earlier than she had in years, her own chant drowning out the realization that she had no idea whether she was coming or going these days.
“Dude, no offense
, but I don’t think the M on our jerseys did anything.”
Eric ignored Thad’s comment as he toweled off following a particularly brutal practice. His teammate was right, of course. They’d gotten a single point from the overtime loss but were still trailing Jersey by eight points in the standings. If they didn’t turn it around soon, they could miss the playoffs entirely. The gesture hadn’t helped personally, either. He still hadn’t heard from Monica. She probably didn’t even know about the chanting fans and the Ms. He was fighting a losing battle, both on and off the ice.
Ulf swiped Eric’s deodorant. “I told you: you should have sent her the snake.”
“Or the singing clown,” Thad put in.
Eric took back his deodorant, wondering if there was a doctor somewhere in New York who could reverse the lobotomies his teammates had obviously had.
“What are you going to do next?” Ulf asked.
“I don’t know,” Eric replied despondently. If he went after her one more time, he was pretty sure he’d be crossing the line from ardent pursuer to pathetic jerk. Maybe it was time to give it a rest. Then again, tenacity and relentless drive were how he’d achieved everything in his life, from getting out of Flasher to winning the Cup. He couldn’t understand why it wasn’t working with Monica.
Eric finished toweling off, grimacing as he dressed. He’d been playing and practicing his butt off. As a result, he’d at least raised his play to mediocre. But he knew that wasn’t good enough for Ty, his teammates, or himself.
As he headed over to Fuzzy’s with a bunch of the guys, he resolved to drop his pursuit for a while and just focus on his game. What else could he do?
PAIGE: How dare you show up at my wedding to Grayson, Roxie? How dare you?
ROXIE: I wanted everyone there to know what a sham it was. Plus, I had some news of my own to deliver to Grayson.
PAIGE: What’s that?
ROXIE: You’re not the only one carrying Grayson’s child.
Power Play Page 22
