by Cathryn Fox
“Tomorrow,” Tim said.
“But you were supposed to be doing a commercial shoot on the West Coast for the new campaign…” Roxanne looked at Laura.
“That’s where we need your help.”
“Laura, you know I’d do anything for you, but I’ve been fired from a volunteer job with the hospital for pity’s sake. How can I possibly…”
Laura interrupted her. “Harry and I’ve arranged for you to be on the payroll of the advertising firm doing the shoot. It’s all set. But that’s not the real problem.”
“The real problem is Lindy,” Dr. Oki interjected.
“What is it?” Her heart pounded with a vicious jump.
“No, nothing too bad, but her operation has been moved up. We’re only taking a two-day honeymoon as it is, and we need you to bring Barry back for Lindy’s operation. It’s extremely important that he be here for her.”
“I checked,” Laura said. “He’ll miss at least two games. But it can’t be helped.” Laura confirmed.
“It’s very important that he be here, Rox. I can’t stress that enough. We figured you could convince him. So that’s why we’re sending you. Consider it a mission.” Dr. Oki smiled as he handed her an airline boarding pass printout. A quick check confirmed one passage to L.A. and two for the return. It was a grand setup, she had to admit.
“There has to be something you’re not telling me. Why the change in the date for surgery?” The drumming of her heart started up again.
“It’s not that bad. It shouldn’t be a problem at all. She had a slight fever and we got it under control. We have to do the surgery while she’s stable. To wait two more weeks as planned would risk another infection and another delay.”
“Of course I’ll go.” She didn’t tell them that she had no influence on Barry. But maybe they were all wrong about him. Maybe he wouldn’t need any convincing to drop everything for his daughter. She looked at the airline printout again to realize the flight was the red-eye tonight. The commercial shoot was for tomorrow at the LA Forum after practice and the return flight was a red-eye the same night. Maybe she wouldn’t have time to be distracted or worried about what he or anyone else would think. The thought of Detective Turner flashed through her mind and she didn’t give it a second take.
It didn’t matter. Some things were too important. Lindy Dennis’s health was one of them. To hell with what Barry or Detective Turner or reporters or anyone else.
Arriving at the Los Angeles Forum with her entourage of two cameramen, a production assistant and a director, Roxanne was set to play the role of producer. It was something she’d enjoyed doing the few times she’d had the opportunity in the past. They walked out onto the blindingly lit court to be met by the Lakers’ PR man.
“Celtics’ practice will be over in five, I’m told. So how do you like the Forum?” The man’s sunglasses weren’t entirely inappropriate, Roxanne thought.
“It’s exactly as billed,” she said. Cartoon colorful and cartoon real, she thought. The man beamed. They walked to the visitors’ end of the court to set up the cameras and lights with their scripts in hand. Roxanne wandered over to where the Celtics were doing last minute three-man weave drills. She strolled under the basket and watched each man execute his layup.
The coach blew the whistle and the action stopped. Roxanne could swear the coach paused to glance her way. But he was too far away to tell who she was. It didn’t matter. When she turned away, Barry stood with the ball directly in front of her, game face in place.
“Do you approve, coach?” He twisted his mouth into that painfully dear half-smile, with a nod at her baseball cap. She wore pants, sneakers and a jacket and cap with the ad agency logo, same uniform as the others from the crew. She had hoped to stay under the radar as much as possible. She forced herself to stay calmly professional even as her nerve endings jumped and her stomach flew around. She smiled up at him. Her poise would fail her if she forced too much.
“Are you ready for the commercial shoot?”
“What are you doing here, Roxanne?”
“I’m doing a job, same as you. I hope.”
He got the hint and started walking over to where they were setting up the cameras. “I don’t get to shower and clean up?” He tossed over his shoulder to her.
He sounded so formal. “In a minute.” She followed him and caught up. “The director will brief you first. After that you can get into your dress whites.”
“I don’t have my ‘dress whites’ with me. They’re for home games.” He stopped and looked down at her with a neutral expression.
“Don’t worry. We brought them with us. We’ve thought of everything.” She couldn’t resist throwing him a taunting smile. He remained cool as ever. She felt like slapping a reaction into him. Anything to shake out a response. He was so tantalizingly familiar and real and she longed to reach out to him. She squeezed her hands into fists. She had to wait until after the shoot to tell him about Lindy. Then he might crack and show some emotion in that robot-like façade. That was a cruel, selfish thought, she knew, but even the Tin Man showed more heart than Barry did right now.
The director finished with him. The production assistant gave him his white uniform and Roxanne watched him trot to the locker room.
“How long do you think the shoot will take?” she asked the director.
“Depends on how many takes he needs.”
“What’s your bet? Less than five?” Roxanne dared the man to guess.
“Nah. That’s tough. Even for a pro. Though he does seem to be a cool one…nah. Why? You want to put some money on it?”
“Yeah.”
“How about twenty bucks says he goes over five takes?” The man looked confident.
“How about a thousand says he does it in less?” Roxanne enjoyed the look of surprise on the man’s face.
“You’re kidding, right?”
The production assistant had been listening and laughed. “I don’t think she’s kidding. I think she knows something you don’t. Watch out. Smells like a sucker’s bet to me.”
The director looked at her again, rubbing his chin. “That’s right. You’re supposed to be tight with this guy aren’t you? All bets off, honey. Nice try.”
She flashed him a smile and shrugged. They waited a while, fussing with placement and discussing each segment, blocking out possible moves, until the production assistant returned with the star. After another quick briefing with the director, some manhandling by the production assistant and testing of the lights and camera angles, Barry perfected the shoot in three takes for each of three segments.
They wrapped it up and the crew began disassembling the makeshift set. Roxanne and Barry were walking away when the director gave Roxanne a smug smile. “You thought I’d fall for that sucker’s bet?”
Barry stopped in his tracks. “What the hell?”
Roxanne waved the man off and took Barry’s arm to lead him off the court toward the locker rooms. “A girl can’t have any fun,” she said over her shoulder to the director.
The man chortled. “I’ll bet you have plenty of fun,” the man said, and the entire crew laughed at that.
Barry tugged his arm from hers and looked down at her. “What the hell was that all about? I can’t afford any more rumors about you and me, real or otherwise.” They’d reached the locker room door and he stood looking down at her with a frown, sparks of anger in those blue eyes.
She felt exhilarated that she’d broken through his cool. “Don’t worry, Mr. Dennis. Your virtuous reputation is safe with me.” She turned to walk away and he caught her arm, stopping her.
“Where do you think you’re going? Is our business over? I was kind enough to put up with your presence in the first place. I was expecting Laura. I expect an explanation. I don’t know what you want from me, but …”
“Nothing. Damn it. Absolutely nothing. All right? So don’t worry your overinflated ego about it for another second. I didn’t come here chasing you.” She stoppe
d and bit her lip, wishing her hurt didn’t show, but knowing it did. It felt too deep, too consuming to be covered by her flash of anger.
“Then what is it, Roxanne? Why the fuck are you here?” His voice was softer, but his look was not. They still stood outside the locker room. The hall was deserted. She looked around and caught a glimpse of the crew on the court. She took a breath, willed her heartbeat to slow down, and then forced herself to meet his eyes.
“Lindy’s surgery has been moved up. You have to leave with me tonight. We’re flying out on the red-eye.” She raised her chin. “I was sent here to fetch you.” She noticed the flicker in his eyes at the mention of his daughter.
“I’ll come back with you. They thought you’d have to drag me back kicking and screaming?” His voice sounded gravelly and strained.
“Yes.” She continued to watch him as he looked around. Then he looked back down at her with piercing intensity.
“But you knew better, didn’t you?”
She looked away. He took her chin in his hand, not gently, and forced her to look back up at him. He had her. She didn’t speak. How could she? But he already knew.
“Didn’t you, Roxanne?”
“Yes.” She spat the word at him, and then pulled herself from his grasp. She kept her chin up and continued to stare him straight in the eye.
“Why did you come here then?” He didn’t give up.
“To make sure.” She knew it sounded lame.
“No. Tell me the real reason.” He taunted her with a soft voice and his intense eyes holding hers. He stood close, but didn’t touch her. She could smell his sweat, feel his heat and his tension.
“You want me to tell you I came to see you? Okay. I came to see you. Are you satisfied?” Her anger was strong, but it was mixed up in a black swirl of stormy emotions. She gritted her teeth against the tears.
“I had to know if I was right.” He let her eyes go and stepped back.
But she was not ready to let him go. “Of course. But we’re not playing games anymore, remember? You don’t have to keep checking the score.” Her tears fell. She was finished with him. “I’ll meet you out front. We’ll get a cab whenever you’re ready.” She walked away.
“Damn.” The word repeated in his mind as he watched her go. He’d been too afraid to ask questions about Lindy. But he trusted that Roxanne would have told him if it was something bad. He clenched his hand to his stomach. He felt sick. He walked toward the locker room to change and pack up. His mind was consumed with a mess of questions about Lindy, then Roxanne, then Lindy. Why did he keep trying to hurt Roxanne when it hurt him so much when he did? What was wrong with Lindy now? His gut clenched. He tasted bile.
There was no room left in his thoughts for basketball. He had nothing left to spend on concern about how many games he would miss. He glanced around the room. He was alone. He sat on the nearest bench, leaned over and put his head in his hands. He couldn’t stop his mind from racing through the long-forgotten fields of forbidden thought. The hurricane of emotions in him demanded to be let free. The feeling of defeat overwhelmed him.
He cried.
Wearing sunglasses, Barry walked out of the front doors of the LA Forum and looked around for Roxanne. He spotted her leaning against a car at the curb reading a magazine, looking gorgeous as usual. She elicited more than one interested glance from passersby. He took a deep breath, but stood still. What the hell did he say to her now? Did he go on pretending indifference? It was getting damned near impossible to do. He’d really lost it. He had no choice. He was not ready to take on Roxanne. But he was definitely ready for Lindy.
He wished he could transport himself to his daughter’s bedside. He ached at thinking of the time he missed, the time he wasted. Most of all, he ached at the contemplation of what she was going through right now. He had to ask Roxanne about that. The thought made him move.
He stepped out of the shadow of the building. Even with his sunglasses on, one of the women in a group walking by grabbed his arm.
“You’re Barry Dennis, aren’t you? The Celtics are playing here tomorrow, huh?” She poked her friend for confirmation without taking her eyes off him—and without letting go of his arm. “Could I have your autograph? We’re from out of town, but …”
“Sure. Here.” Barry grabbed the piece of paper the woman’s friend shoved in his direction with a pen and signed it as fast as he could before anyone else decided to ask. He glanced up once to see Roxanne standing with her arms crossed, watching him. Of course she had her poise back and a look on her face that said she was laughing at him on the inside.
“See ya, ladies. Wish me luck.” He handed the paper and pen back to them and strode off toward Roxanne.
“We have to swing by my hotel to pick up my things and talk to the coach. What about you?” he said without looking at her. He adjusted the sunglasses on his face as he waved down a taxi. One stopped right away and he opened the door to let her in.
“I travel light,” she said, and got into the cab.
“When did you get in?” He asked and slid in next to her.
“Early morning.”
“Did you even book into a hotel?”
“For a few hours. Listen, don’t give me this show of concern bullshit, okay? Don’t even talk to me at all.” She looked at him with revived anger in her eyes. He wasn’t going to try and strip it away again. Every ounce of him screamed for him to strip her naked and take her—emotionally. Maybe physically, too. She stared out the window drumming her fingers on the magazine she had rolled into a cylinder.
“Tell me what’s wrong with Lindy first. Then I’ll leave you alone.” He meant it. So after a quick glance at him, she looked away and told him what she knew. Which wasn’t much. He needed more and he decided he’d call the doctor when he got to his room and had a minute alone.
He also had to talk to the coach. Coach Benson wouldn’t be happy, but he’d understand. It didn’t matter at all to Barry. It was funny, because last week, what his coach thought mattered as much as anything, more than most.
They reached the hotel and barely finished taking care of all their details and errands before catching another taxi and heading to the airport. A sense of urgency drove him to call and change their flight to an earlier one. He booked them in first class for dinnertime.
On the plane, settled down after rushing around, he found himself with time to think again. Under other circumstances, this would have been an enjoyable flight. He could have looked forward to it. His mind tripped back to his flight with Roxanne from D.C. to Boston and he thought immediately of checking out the restrooms.
He looked over at her. She glanced back at him. He knew she was thinking the same thing. “Want to rendezvous?” He had to be crazy to suggest it. But he wanted it. He wanted that time back. He wanted everything to be the same as it was. No. Better than it was. He wanted it to be real.
She stared back at him, not mistaking what he said. He saw the desire in her eyes. She could never hide it, not completely, even when she’d been playing games. But there was so much more there now. There was pain and understanding and compassion.
“I would really love to. As you, no doubt, have figured out.” She paused and leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. “But I’m not going to. At least not with you.” She sounded tired.
“What do you mean, ‘not with me’?”
She chuckled, eyes still closed, but made no comment. He compressed his lips shut when he would have said more. He wanted to insist on an answer. The heat of panic in him was difficult to ignore, to keep down. But he did his best. He ordered a Jack Daniels when the flight attendant came around, before they ever left the ground. It would be a long flight.
Later, Roxanne either feigned sleep, he figured, or she really was tired. She ought to be, he thought. The plane taxied to a stop and people around him stood. The flight attendant gestured that it was time to wake Roxanne.
He sighed. He wished to hell he could wake her up with a kiss.
He looked over at her profile, soft in repose. Damn, he wished he could take her home with him and make love to her until they both forgot everything.
But he could not. He brushed her face with his fingers. She stirred. Then she opened her eyes and looked at him. It was the most heart-melting, loving look he ever remembered getting from a woman.
To hell with everything.
He leaned over and kissed her. He only meant to give her a light kiss, but she kissed him back. She sighed and he forgot why he wasn’t supposed to love her.
Eventually the flight attendant came back and, clearing her throat, told them the doors were open. They got off the plane and walked through the terminal in silence. It was just past dawn. Barry guided Roxanne through the corporate crowd swiftly, holding her to his side. He evaded the surprised glances and comments. Luckily the media hadn’t been made aware of his return. That was the deal. The coach wasn’t to make the announcement until game time.
They slipped through the terminal exit and made it to Barry’s car, still without speaking. Barry realized having kissed her failed to erase anything that stood between them. If possible, it made things between them even more strained. He could think of nothing to say to her. She didn’t volunteer any openings. She seemed cool, but he knew she was not. He sensed the veneer that covered her tension and sadness was wearing thin.
He didn’t want to hurt her anymore, but he knew she was hurting.
They got in his car and she turned to him. This time she seemed more like her old self. His heart quickened.
“Where to, Mr. Chauffeur? I’ll let you call the shots.”
“You wouldn’t want to do that. If we did what I want, you’d end up home in my bed.” He looked at her honestly. She saw it and looked way. The veneer was gone. She stared out the window now more intently than ever.
“I’ll take you home,” he said. She didn’t even nod. He drove. By the time he pulled in her driveway, she was a million miles away.
He turned the engine off and slouched back into his seat. Then he looked over at her. Her eyes weren’t sad or accusing or angry, only strong and forthright. They were hard to meet. But he couldn’t turn away now.
