Playing the Game

by Stephanie Queen

  Don’s family turned to Roxanne and stared. Roxanne was used to drawing attention, but these were not admiring gazes. Glancing around the room, she noticed Don’s Aunt Rose pursing her lips in disapproval. Aunt Rose’s eyes were riveted on the hemline of Roxanne’s dress, well above her knees.

  “Good morning, Roger.” Roxanne singled out Don’s nicest cousin, hoping for an ally. But she was more disappointed than surprised by Roger’s embarrassed nod and averted eyes in response. One more sweeping glance of the faces in the room told her she was on her own.

  They’d always disapproved of her and they always would, Roxanne thought. They were a conservative and snobby lot. If it wasn’t her short hemline that drew disdain, it would be the black feather that emanated from her veiled hat. Not that it mattered what she wore; they would never approve of her because she was not one of them. Not only was she not a blue blood with old money, but she was considered to be in show business. Although, Roxanne was fairly certain that if she was very famous and made lots of money at it, that would have made her okay.

  She stood for a moment, watching the gathering of people, some standing, some seated in the folding chairs that had been brought in to accommodate them. Roxanne had not looked forward to this, but it was Don’s express wishes that they all be present, and she especially had to be there. She wasn’t sure why, since their prenup agreement stipulated that she would not inherit anything. She knew there would be no easy exit for her, even as much as she knew that she would need to get away. So far, she’d managed to avoid any confrontations with Don’s family, and notably her mother-in-law. But today she felt a confrontation was inevitable.

  Penelope Boswell was an attractive woman with neat, short, pale blonde hair, but her narrow blue eyes gave her a permanent pinched expression. With her compact figure, she possessed a cat-like grace. But unfortunately, Roxanne thought, she also possessed a cat-like personality. Roxanne’s gaze met Penelope’s directly, and the older woman did not bother to hide the displeasure apparent in her frown. Roxanne smiled and nodded her head in return. She lifted her chin, clutched her bag, clenched her free fist and strode toward the empty seat in front of the traditional brick fireplace where the family lawyer stood with Penelope. She shook the attorney’s hand. He mumbled greetings and condolences at the same time. She turned to Penelope and her mother-in-law immediately averted her gaze.

  With a stiffened back and a set jaw, Roxanne took her seat. She was not surprised that Penelope chose not to be civil, not to even acknowledge her. But it was disconcerting. Penelope had been angry with Roxanne’s request for a divorce, but only because her son Donald had taken it so hard. Roxanne decided she should be generous to the woman in her grief. Maybe if they continued to ignore each other she could escape the proceedings without having to utter another word to any of them. But that seemed doubtful. She didn’t think it was paranoia that gave her the feeling that eyes were staring at her from all around the room, just waiting for something to happen. And she knew that something would not be particularly pleasant for her. They all blamed her for making Donald miserable when she filed for divorce.

  She was, of course, not the monster they all thought her to be. But then neither was she the saint that Don had constantly proclaimed her to be. She sighed. The room was quiet save for a few whispers exchanged as the attorney looked through his papers and cleared his throat. Anticipation hung in the air like the blade of a guillotine.

  Roxanne didn’t know what the assembled friends and relatives were more eager to hear—the reading of the will or her dressing down at the hands of her mother-in-law.

  At last the attorney began and Penelope took her seat next to Roxanne. “Relatives and friends, we are gathered to hear the last will and testament of the late Donald P. Boswell III. As you all know, the execution of the conditions of this will are pending the completion of the police investigation of Donald’s death and any implications of the results therein.” Dillon looked directly at Roxanne. She felt heat rise in her and struggled to maintain her placid stare. She scolded herself to shore up her mental armor. That was only the first shot; the battle hadn’t even started.

  “Very well then, being of sound mind…” The attorney droned on that way, inserting neither comments nor emotion into the legal jargon of the document. The speech was punctuated only by the appropriately subdued reaction of each benefactor as they were named. Until he stopped altogether and asked those already named to leave. The servants, the cousins, the few friends, all left, confused in their mumblings as they went out the door. Another man from the lawyer’s office ushered the last of them out and closed the door behind them.

  The only people left in the room other than Roxanne were Penelope’s people. There was Penelope, Penelope’s daughter Jane, her sister Louise and her husband, and her late husband’s brother, Donald’s uncle Jerome. They sat silently, waiting. Roxanne had never been to a will reading. She had no idea what to expect, but this seemed odd to her. That only added to her growing discomfort.

  “It was Donald’s wish that this part of the will where he bequeaths the bulk of the family fortune, left to him by his father, be read in semi-privacy.” The man looked down at the papers and then up again. “Donald came to me several months ago to alter the will that had been drawn up just prior to his marriage to Ms. Roxanne Monet. As all of you were familiar with the contents of the will at that time, let me point out the major difference.” He stopped again and Roxanne could feel cold stares in her direction. She heard the other members of their small party shifted in their seats. Roxanne stared ahead and dared not guess what Donald had done to the will. His mother had insisted that Donald have a prenuptial agreement before marrying Roxanne, and had dictated the terms of the previous will. Roxanne cooperated without a fuss, relieved at the time that she couldn’t rightly be accused of being completely mercenary. Of course she was so accused, nevertheless.

  Now she didn’t move. She held her chin up and forced thought from her mind by trying to concentrate on the brick in the fireplace directly above the attorney’s head.

  But she thought of Donald instead. He’d been an adoring husband and she wanted that, needed it at first. But she couldn’t give him the same in return. He deserved so much better than she could give him and now he would never have it. She bowed her head and blinked her eyes. There would be no escaping the guilty mistake of her marriage now. She instinctively put a hand over her eyes. There were no tears, only that twisting knife feeling in her gut. But crying wouldn’t do any good. There was nothing she could do for him anymore. Donald was dead.

  She steeled herself.

  The attorney cleared his throat. “Whereas in the prior will, Ms. Roxanne Monet was to be bequeathed nothing, it has been amended. Ms. Monet is now bequeathed all remaining cash, stocks, bonds, real estate, and other material items such that were in the deceased’s possession at the time of his death. In other words, the remainder of the estate in its entirety goes to Roxanne Monet.”

  “NO! This can’t be!” Penelope bolted up out of her seat and stood in front of Roxanne. Murmurs of shock ran through the small group. Roxanne’s heart must have skipped a beat because she felt slightly dizzy for a split second, but that was all she had time for.

  “You little bitch!” The older woman slapped Roxanne’s face with a gloved hand. Roxanne did not flinch, but narrowed her eyes at the woman, refusing to budge.

  “You can’t hide behind Donald’s protection any longer. I was right all along about you. You’re nothing but a fortune-hunting slut! And now you think you’ve finally got what you wanted—all the money. Well you’re wrong!

  “You put him up to this change in the will and I’ll prove it! It will never stand. I will challenge it immediately.” Penelope turned to her astounded family.

  “We will contest this will. She’ll never get away with it.” She turned back to Roxanne and sneered.

  “I’ll see you penniless and friendless. And then I’ll see you thrown in jail for the murder of my
son!” There were gasps. The attorney’s mouth hung open.

  Roxanne couldn’t help feeling a shade paler at the last accusation, before she quickly reset her jaw to a rigid line. Penelope turned and waved her hand at the lawyer signaling that the reading was finished and she stormed toward the door.

  “Wait just a minute.” Roxanne’s voice was quiet, but Penelope stopped with a jolt all the same. When the older woman turned back to look at her, Roxanne could tell that her well-controlled smile and demeanor maddened the woman. It was surprisingly easy to stand there and take the full wrath of Penelope Boswell after all. Somewhere deep down inside, Roxanne knew it didn’t matter what any of the Boswells thought anymore.

  “You can have your precious estate. I want no part of it—or you. As far as this new will is concerned, I’m just as surprised—and displeased—as you.

  “As for murder, I won’t even justify that ridiculous insinuation with a defense.” Roxanne turned to the lawyer. “I don’t want any of it. Draw up the appropriate papers and I’ll sign them.” She turned on her heel and with her chin up, she sauntered past Penelope Boswell to leave the room the way she’d come in.

  No one said a word. They only watched. When Roxanne reached the door she turned to Penelope once again. She lifted her right hand and yanked the monstrous emerald and platinum ring from it. She flung the family heirloom in the direction of her ex-mother-in-law so that it landed on the floor in front of her.

  “You may have that too.”

  A collective gasp was elicited from the small party. “Don’t mistakenly think that this exonerates you in any way. I won’t ever forgive you for killing my son. You will pay for it.” Penelope spoke in a quiet, controlled voice. Her narrow eyes aimed like lasers straight through Roxanne. Disconcerted in spite of her outward poise, Roxanne walked out without taking another breath until she got outside.

  “And that’s the story.” She patted Dr. Oki on the hand because he looked so distraught after listening to her.

  As the party swirled around her and she found herself staring into her now empty wine glass she felt compelled to somehow cheer her two good friends. They stood staring sympathetically at her. And she hated sympathy.

  “Hey, you guys aren’t doing your part here. Go mingle and spread good cheer and raise more funds; after all this is a fund-raising event.” She looked at them and Laura’s frown was comical.

  “No offense Rox, but this group isn’t the easiest to mingle with. The sports set?” Laura grimaced.

  “You know very well why we chose to focus on this industry. Professional athletes have the two vital ingredients necessary to a successful fund-raising campaign for Children’s Mercy Hospital. They have children and they have money.”

  “I know, and this is only the beginning. It’s September. What will I do this winter?” Laura said.

  She was chairperson of the hospital’s voluntary fund-raising group and she needed Laura’s support to help keep the hospital and their staff involved in hosting the many events they would be sponsoring. Roxanne no longer had the resources to do much on her own. Ever since she’d gotten involved in fund-raising for the hospital years ago after her mother died, it meant everything to her. They felt like family to her. It gave her something really meaningful to do that working as a TV talk show hostess did not—or rather it did not in the past when she actually was a TV talk show hostess.

  “I know. Call me an intellectual snob if you will, but these people are only interested in sports. You’d be better off if I was a twelve-year-old boy,” Laura said.

  “I had an interesting conversation with Barry Dennis,” Roxanne pointed out. Laura looked at her with skepticism and a wave of her hand.

  “No offense, but I know how your conversations go, and he wouldn’t need a brain to be responsive to you,” Laura said.

  Roxanne laughed at the jibe. “I’ve been on my best behavior, honestly. I’m wearing my wedding band and everything. Let me tell you about it.” She ordered her friend a drink and made sure Laura laughed as she told her of her conversation with Barry. It was some time later that Roxanne noticed his tall figure leaving the party. She watched him go with a smile on her lips as she half listened to the conversation around her. Now that was a very interesting man. She hadn’t thought that about a man in a very long time. Shaking her head at her silly decision, she slipped the ridiculous diamond and wedding band from her finger. She’d have to trust herself to not make the same mistake twice about a man without the help of the wedding band.

  No matter how desperate she got, she would never again marry a man because he swept her off her feet. She should have known it was all a romantic illusion. In fact, she would never marry again, period. She shuddered.

  Later on that week, even after putting in long hours on fund-raising projects, Roxanne awoke in the middle of the night. She couldn’t sleep. Again. Or maybe it was that she didn’t want to sleep for fear of having that dream. She hadn’t told anyone about it yet. Maybe she should tell Bonnie. The old woman had been her caretaker for too many years. Maybe she should get a psychiatrist. On second thought, that would cost too much money.

  She laughed at herself out loud as she threw on her robe and walked over to the window. It worried her that she was still dreaming about Don’s death and his mother’s accusations. She tried to push it all from her mind, but the thoughts kept returning like wave after wave of the ocean crashing on the rocks below. She supposed her insomnia was to be expected. If it wasn’t the guilt that kept her up at night, her financial problems certainly would. She’d been contemplating how to get her job back with the TV station all week. She sensed Hank had fired her more on impulse than a deep conviction that she needed to go. She’d think of something. Eventually.

  As usual, she was going overboard with her charity work because she needed the distraction. There was another fund-raising party coming up on Friday night. This one would kick off the pro-am golf tournament to benefit the hospital. It would be just the thing for a diversion. She would have to be there anyway; she may as well throw herself into having a really good time and forget about everything else. Especially the dream.

  Roxanne returned to bed and refused to think about anything else but the golf benefit. She needed sleep. She would think of a solution to her problem of dwindling cash tomorrow. And of course, the thought of Penelope hiring a private investigator to prove that Roxanne murdered Don was too ridiculous to entertain at all. The police determined his death was accidental. At the edge of her mind, Roxanne couldn’t keep out the niggling thought that it may have been suicide, but she needed to put it behind her. She only wished Don’s mother could do the same.

  Sitting in a cubicle at the hospital’s development office the next day, she heard the phone ring again. She yawned. She couldn’t concentrate at all; not with the phone constantly ringing—something that didn’t usually bother her. Roxanne thought she’d never finish her report and shoved her chair back from the desk and got up. Laura had given her this space to work so she could get out of her house more. She walked to the window and decided to take a walk. It was time to do something besides think about the looming real estate tax bill that had arrived that morning.

  When she got to the street, in Boston’s medical district on Brookline Avenue, she had no idea where she was going, but her steps were quick and she found herself in the corner convenience store staring blankly at the magazine rack. She looked around. The man behind the counter gave her an odd kind of look and when she met his gaze he looked away. He probably thought she was a mental patient and she decided she should at least buy something. Gazing around again, a magazine cover caught her eye and she smiled.

  “I’ll take a Sports Illustrated.” Barry Dennis’s face was on the cover and Roxanne chewed her lip thinking about the man as she paid for the magazine. She’d seen his name on the guest list for the cocktail party that coming Friday. He was playing in the pro-am golf tournament to benefit the hospital that weekend.

  Roxanne pulled h
er phone from her bag and placed a call to her producer “Hank? This is Roxanne. Don’t hang up. Would you still like to do the Barry Dennis interview? Yes? I can get him for you. If I get my job back.”

  Much later that night, with her stockinged feet up on a kitchen chair and her skirt bunched up in an unladylike manner around her thighs, she sat back and relaxed for the first time in a long while. Bonnie sat, as she did every evening after keeping the house in order by day, in the same old chair she’d had since Roxanne could remember as a child. They both watched the flat screen TV mounted on the wall.

  “I’m definitely going to have to get another comfortable chair for the kitchen.” Roxanne rubbed her back as she squirmed on the hard wooden seat.

  “Don’t start talking about buying furniture. We’ll probably have to burn this kitchen set for firewood just to keep warm this winter. I can see it now,” Bonnie said.

  Roxanne chuckled, knowing she was being baited by the older woman. How long had she been keeping house and keeping Roxanne out of trouble? Since before her mother died, Roxanne thought. So long ago. She shook her head.

  “I was going to wait to tell you the good news. I got my job back with Channel 7 today—or I will have it by Monday if all goes well Friday night.” Roxanne smiled.

  “Yeah, sure. What's Friday night? It’s just another charity cocktail thing isn’t it?” Bonnie leaned forward and stopped rocking her chair, eying Roxanne suspiciously.

  “Barry Dennis will be there. If I can get him to agree to do the interview, the Channel 7 job is mine again.”

  “They made it too easy for you.” Bonnie shook her head.

  “I’m not so sure it will be easy.” Roxanne recalled her last meeting with Barry. He might never want to speak to her again. She chewed her lip.

  Spinning around in front of Bonnie, Roxanne was ready to leave for the cocktail party. She wore a not-so-simple black silk dress that clung to her shapely form. The straps were made of linked rhinestones. But the eye-catching feature that sold her on the dress was the mink-trimmed hemline just above her knees. She didn’t have any choice in jewelry to wear with it—most of it was gone now. But that didn’t bother her. She wouldn’t even bother replacing it. The diamond-studded Rolex was all that was left, but it was more than enough.