The feat now was to maintain a certain number of famous faces among the crowd, and the turnout could be guaranteed year after year. The party had become important, not only because fifty to seventy-five thousand dollars could be generated in one night, but because of the high profile PR that resulted.
That night she walked through the door leading from the garage to her kitchen well after dark. She was still wearing three-inch red heels and the black and white checked suit that she left in that morning. Drinks with Mr. Dently had dragged on longer than she had anticipated. She avoided looking at the stack of unpaid bills on the kitchen table. Bonnie walked in from her room, already dressed in her robe and slippers.
“You’re awfully late. I don’t suppose you ate any supper?”
Roxanne shook her head no.
“That’s what I thought. You sit and kick off those ridiculous shoes. I’ll pop some beef stew in the microwave. It’s just what you need, a nice hot meal in you.” Bonnie shook her head at Roxanne, so Roxanne figured she must look as beat as she felt and followed the woman’s instructions.
“Bonnie, how is it possible for one person to be having an absolutely wonderful time while the other person is thoroughly bored and miserable?”
“I hope you didn’t offend the man. Knowing you, he was probably only too aware of your boredom.”
Roxanne made a face and Bonnie chuckled.
“I don’t know if I can keep this up. I had Laura schedule me for five appointments a day on my days off from the studio for the next two weeks, and then the invitations go out, and then I have to meet with the caterer, the florist, the musicians, the press people…I don’t know, Bonnie. Either this year’s holiday gala is bigger than last year’s, or I’m getting old.” Roxanne blew a loose strand of hair from her face and with her elbows on the table, she put her chin in her hands and watched the woman she called her maid. Paying the bills for all that concerned her most, but she didn’t have to tell Bonnie.
“I’ll tell you what I think. I might recall this same conversation going on, oh, about a year ago about last year’s party. You always manage. And you’ll manage the money too.”
Roxanne sat up. “Did I get any calls?”
“Not here. Not from him. I didn’t think he would call again. Seems to me to be the type of man that doesn’t have to go begging for attention. He gives you your chance and then that’s it.” Bonnie put a steaming dish with a man-sized portion of beef stew in front of her.
“You don’t plan to call him back do you?” Bonnie scolded.
Roxanne had to smile as she dug into the meal with her usual zest for Bonnie’s cooking. She would never be the slim type, but then she could never see the virtues of eating like a waif anyway, especially when presented with good food like this.
“Maybe, maybe not. You don’t understand our relationship. It’s very casual. No commitments of any kind, just fun. It’s perfect, really, and it’s exactly what we both want.”
“Mmm hhmm,” was all Bonnie said.
Roxanne nearly choked on her stew. She figured the woman was too smart to rise to the bait now, or too tired. Normally they would engage in a lively debate about Roxanne’s theories on relationships. Roxanne had never been in love. Maybe her father was right and she should never let herself fall in love. But no, that couldn’t be true. She wasn’t sure why or if she ever would, or even if maybe it was a good thing, but never having experienced that special feeling she had a hard time understanding what drove romantic relationships and people. Like Don. She wanted to be loved, but she found it wasn’t so wonderful unless you loved the person back the same way.
Since Don died, she hadn’t had any relationships with anyone, besides business colleagues like Mark, until Barry came along. She hadn’t even gone out except in the line of duty.
Her mind once again turned to Barry Dennis and she decided she would give him a call back. She retreated to the privacy of her room. After she had changed for bed into a little cotton lace nightie and sat by the fireplace, she made the call. It was ten p.m..
Barry was sleeping. A buzzer sounded, but it wasn’t the end of the game yet. Slowly, still in a daze, he realized it was ringing and reached to turn off his alarm. But it wasn’t the alarm. He propped himself up and shook his head, trying to wake himself up enough to figure out what was going on.
The phone. No one had his number, so who could be calling him this late?
“Yeah?” He propped himself up on an elbow while he held the receiver to his ear.
“Hello.”
“Who the hell is this?” He sat upright now. It was unmistakably a woman’s voice and since he didn’t give out his number to women, this should be someone he knew. Or maybe this was a crank call. He was thinking he would have to change his number, when the woman spoke again.
“Barry? This is Roxanne. You do remember me don’t you? Or did you suffer a head injury lately that I haven’t heard about?” She spoke in a low, cool voice.
He fell back onto his pillow with the phone still to his ear and chuckled.
“I should have figured. Never mind. What are you doing calling me at this hour? I was in a dead sleep.”
“Sleep? Already? You never went to sleep this early when I was there.”
“That’s true and that was my undoing, if you recall.” They both laughed. “I’m glad you think it’s so funny. But I do need my sleep. What’s up?”
“I thought you would be, but I’ll get to the point. Do you have anything planned for three weeks from Saturday?”
“Not that I know of, unless there’s a game that night.”
“No game. We made sure of that.”
“We? What are you talking about?” He sat up again, raking his fingers through his hair.
“I’m throwing a holiday gala benefit for the Children’s Mercy Hospital at my house. If you promise to come to my party you can be my date for the night—all night.” The seductive melody of her voice caused Barry to pause for a breath.
He pictured her lounging there in a brief nightie, a teasing pout shaping her lips and her long lashes half veiling her smoldering brown eyes. The image forced him to lie back once again. He felt his body heating up. He was fully awake now. And fully aroused. He found his voice and attempted to answer her.
“I promise.” It was all he could say. He cleared his throat as he lay on his pillows in the dark room all by himself.
“You’ve made my night. Now I’ll have wonderful dreams about you until dawn. I’ll let you go back to sleep.” Then she added, “Sorry I woke you. I won’t do it again—unless I do it in person. Good night.”
Her voice was a sexy low whisper with a hint of laughter bubbling underneath. He wanted to tell her not to hang up yet so he could go on listening to her talk. But that would only be torture. What he really wanted to do was tell her he would be there as soon as he could get in the car and drive over. But that would take at least an hour. He took a long deep breath before he spoke.
“Good night, Roxy…I wish you were here.” Then he hung up. Why the hell had he said that? It was not the kind of thing he was in the habit of saying to women—especially that one. Even if it was true. Women were bound to misunderstand that kind of thing and read more into it.
But then Roxanne probably knew better and that was exactly what he liked about her. He turned over and, punching his pillow, he put his head down to attempt the task of getting back to sleep with the vivid image of Roxanne on his mind.
Chapter 7
ROXANNE STOOD watching the local morning news as she drank her coffee. Early morning sun streamed in through the kitchen windows causing glare on the TV screen. She needed to leave the house within ten minutes to make the meeting with Dr. Oki at the hospital. Then she needed to meet with her lawyer, Al, and bring him some jewelry to sell for her.
She was about to put her coffee cup down and click the TV off, when a news flash caught her attention. With her finger poised over the remote’s off button, she watched the camera zoom in
on a little girl being brought on a stretcher into Boston’s Children’s Mercy Hospital to the emergency burn treatment center. There were IV bottles attached and an entourage of EMTs and a doctor running in beside her. The girl was pathetic and shrunken looking, almost completely covered by a white sheet, in the midst of the commotion. The man with her, presumably her father, was standing in the background and the camera keyed in on him as the reporter moved in for an interview. Roxanne was stunned by the man’s seeming detachment. Roxanne turned up the volume so she could hear as he answered the reporter’s painful questions about the fire with the unflinching succinctness more appropriate to a business meeting than the site of a hospital where his wife was delivered DOA and his daughter’s survival was questionable.
Deep inside her, emotions churned. Tears spilled onto her cheeks. She reached up and touched them and then looked at her moist fingertips in surprise. She hurried to wipe the rest of the tears away. Roxanne was transported back in time against her will to the days when she cried every day, the days when she was a little girl just like this one. She lost her mother when she was eleven. And her father loved her even less after that. Flashes of broken scenes from her childhood panned through her mind. There was a little girl with a skinned knee longing for her daddy’s embrace, but all he said was, “You shouldn’t cry. Crying is not a good thing to do. Now be a grown up girl and stop for Daddy.” Then he patted her on the head and disappeared into his library with a book.
The memory startled her with its vividness. Why did she remember such an inconsequential thing? But Roxanne remembered more, she remembered herself wishing so hard for her father to hug her that she gritted her teeth. And she remembered that after the door closed behind her father, the tears returned, only they had nothing to do with the skinned knee.
Snapping out of it, Roxanne looked at her wrist, checking on her Rolex again. “Oh no!” In one swift motion, she snapped the television off, drained her cup and then slammed it down on the counter. Rushing past Bonnie who’d just walked in the kitchen, Roxanne hurried to the garage door.
“What do you think, you’re in a chugging contest with that coffee?” Bonnie furrowed her brow.
“Gotta go. Be home late. Need to sell the family jewels.” Roxanne flashed a smile at the older woman, but as she was about to disappear through the door, she hesitated, and then walked back to Bonnie and hugged her.
“I’ll give you a call,” Roxanne said and this time she left with the right feeling. Bonnie stood frozen, then shook her head.
As she drove across the narrow road that led off the peninsula, her cell phone rang. A quick check revealed it was Laura.
“Rox, I’m glad I caught you. I’m calling to beg a tremendous favor from you.”
“Let me guess. You want me to cover for you at the emergency room about the little girl they brought in this morning. You’re a little late. I’m on my way. Who’s handling the media now?”
“No one. I’ve been fielding calls at the office. I couldn’t bring myself to go down there. I…kept putting them off. Please?” Laura sounded desperate. There was no way Roxanne would turn her down.
“Okay. But Laura, someday you’re going to have to face this. I know this isn’t the time to discuss the problem, but promise me we will?” Roxanne kept her voice gentle.
“I know. You’re right. I promise.” Laura’s relief was obvious
“So let’s hear the details.” Roxanne felt good about helping her friend.
“You saw it on the news so you know the basics. Very high profile situation…”
“High profile? I had the sound turned down on the TV. I don’t know who…”
“Oh. Rox…I thought you knew…”
“What? Who is the girl?”
“The little girl is Lindy Dennis,” Laura said and then was silent.
Barry Dennis’s daughter. Roxanne swerved the car, but that was nothing compared to what was going on in her gut. Horns beeped at her. She needed to pull over.
“Rox? You okay? I’m sorry. I thought you knew.”
“I’m fine,” she lied.
“You need to know…a few things. Paul Paris came in with her. His wife, Lindy’s mother…is dead.” Laura paused again. “I’m sorry. I thought you knew.”
Roxanne swerved into a Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot and turned off the ignition, still holding the cell phone to her ear, and still not speaking. She realized she was breathing rapidly and took a deep breath.
“Rox? You there? Can you do this?” Laura’s voice changed to a high pitch now.
“Yes. Yes, I’m… I’m taking it all in. What about Barry?”
“The police haven’t reached him yet. I tried calling too, but there’s no answer at his home. Paul didn’t want to call him and neither did his ex-wife’s family and I didn’t have his cell number.” Laura rushed her words.
Roxanne was silent in her car. She shook her head to bring herself fully to attention. That poor pathetic little girl was Barry Dennis’s daughter. The enormity of what Laura asked her to do hit her. She wanted Roxanne to call Barry Dennis and tell him his daughter was critically injured and his ex-wife was dead.
Laura couldn’t do it, so Roxanne had to deal with the situation. “Okay, Laura. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll call Barry.” She hoped she reached him before the police knocked on his door. The purposefulness in her own tone of voice helped buoy her into professional mode and she listened to the details.
Barry was out of town for a game, or on his way. After she clicked off the phone with Laura, she called the Celtics front office. She cut through the formalities and got right to the point. “Barry Dennis’s daughter and ex-wife have been involved in an accident. There was a gas explosion. Fire Department thinks it was the stove. His daughter has been brought into emergency at CMH with severe burns. His ex-wife wasn’t so lucky.” Roxanne listened to herself say the words as if it was someone else speaking. Of course the stunned man said he’d deliver the urgent message. The team was at the airport now and he wasn’t sure if they’d taken off yet.
She knew she made the right choice in having the message delivered through the team. The team was like his family after all.
At the hospital, Roxanne headed straight to the emergency room. She was already late for a meeting. Her heels clicked mercilessly on the tiles of the freshly waxed floor. Her quick pace matched that of the people around her. Nurses and doctors scurried around in all. Few visitors were around at this time of the morning and it was one of the small windows of time that Roxanne had throughout the day to talk with the doctors as she occasionally did.
Double-checking her Rolex, she realized how late she was. After a quick check with the nurse’s station in acute care, she found out that the team of doctors that she was supposed to be meeting with were all in the emergency ward conferring over the new patient, Lindy Dennis. Roxanne headed there immediately. This was the kind of tragic, sensational story reporters longed for, she thought,
She approached the area fast, only slowing after passing a bloodied gurney. It was a reminder of the reason Laura always avoided this part of the hospital. Turning a corner, she wasn’t surprised to see the television cameras still around from the earlier reports, and she carefully stepped through the tangle of cables. They would be expecting someone to hold a press conference shortly, supplying them with as much detail as they were allowed. They were also probably waiting for a glimpse of Barry Dennis himself. So was she.
Familiar faces greeted her when she got close and she was about to engage in conversation with one of the reporters when the voice of Dr. Oki turned her around.
“It’s about time we had someone who looks good on camera to help us out here.” The doctor gave Roxanne his sad smile of relief.
“Looks like everybody’s at this party.” She surveyed the area and spotted three of the six doctors she was supposed to be meeting with, conferring with various nurses. Then she spotted Dr. Dais talking with a man that looked like Paul Paris.
“I’m considering this new patient for possible admission into one of our experimental treatment projects. That’s her father there,” Dr. Oki said. Roxanne was again impressed with the seeming lack of emotion in Paul Paris’s demeanor.
“No, Doc. That’s her stepfather. Her father is Barry Dennis. It might take him a while to get here.” She glanced away from Paul toward the doctor to see him shake his head with surprise.
She walked toward Paul Paris to do her job—or rather to do Laura’s job. Dr. Davis saw her and greeted her with a sigh of relief.
“Mr. Paris’s daughter’s condition has been stabilized. Fifty per cent of her body is burned, mostly the lower extremities. We’ve done several escharotomies.” He turned to Paul Paris to explain, “Those are the lengthwise incisions along the burn wounds necessary to allow room for the swelling of muscle and skin tissue. Her wounds have been dressed and she’s on massive doses of IV fluid now.” It was part of Roxanne’s job to help provide information to the press and though she listened attentively, she shuddered inwardly, and tried to repress the heartbreaking image of the little girl.
Before Roxanne had a chance to ask any questions, a door was opened and a gurney surrounded by a team of people came through. It rolled to a stop beside them. On it lay the same small six or seven-year-old girl she’d seen on the news. Lindy Dennis had looked hopelessly injured on television, but here Roxanne saw a small light in the child’s eyes when she gazed up at her stepfather. Paul did not move toward her, but only tried to reassure her in a dispassionate voice. The little girl looked at Roxanne and met her eyes directly.
“Mommy?” Lindy barely whispered, but Roxanne had not mistaken the word. Her mouth dropped and she reached her hand out to touch the child. Lindy smiled then, and closed her eyes.
The attendants and doctors moved the stretcher forward, mumbling something about her being in shock. Dr. Davis went with them. Roxanne knew the routine. They were bringing Lindy to the burn center to rest before her surgery in the morning when they would remove the burned tissue. They would also then remove one-inch strips of an infinitesimally thin layer of skin from another part of her body in order to grow a culture for skin grafts. This procedure would have to be repeated many times. She would be placed in a Bacteria Controlled Nursing Unit—a BCNU. It was basically a plastic tent-like cube, completely enclosed and through which sterilized air constantly flowed from the ceiling through to the floor. It would protect her from infection, a burn victim’s number one enemy.
Playing the Game Page 11
