Playing the Game

by Stephanie Queen

  “You’re on our own, but if I were you, I’d check the big pledgers and call them for early donations. I’ll make a few calls of my own. Personal calls. I know of one person in particular who might be able to come up with the money fast. I’ll get back to you.” Roxanne ended her call with Laura knowing they both felt better. Her new mission revitalized her. Nail Evans. Save the Dr. Oki Research Fund. Not necessarily in that order.

  She would call Barry. He told her more than once that he’d rather give her a check. She hoped he meant it.

  Roxanne placed the call but there was no answer and his voice mail message box was full. She rummaged through her bag and pulled out her Celtics schedule. They were in town all week.

  “Back to work so soon?” Bonnie had been busy cooking and she came back over to sit down now.

  “Looks that way, doesn’t it? Unofficially. Wasn’t much of a paycheck anyway.”

  “No. Since you were chief volunteer in charge of the volunteers.” Bonnie shook her head and rose again to finish cooking. The woman never did get why Roxanne spent so much effort on her volunteer work. On her way past Roxanne’s chair, the woman did something she never had before. She bent and kissed Roxanne on top of her head and patted her cheek. Then without a word, she moved on to her chores.

  Astounded and wordless, Roxanne stared at the woman’s back for several seconds before she realized there were tears in her eyes. For the second time today.

  It was difficult to be too distressed about her situation when she was discovering what wonderful friends she had. Roxanne shook her head and wiped her cheeks. Then she stood.

  “Call me when dinner is ready,” she said over her shoulder to Bonnie in an unsteady voice. She hurried upstairs to her room to work before the old woman could catch her weepy state.

  After several fruitless phone calls and a lot of wasted time cajoling donors, Roxanne found herself pacing the floor in frustration. Where the hell was Barry Dennis when she needed him? She wished to God she’d never given that fortune back to Penelope now. She could have used that money for this project.

  Just as she and Bonnie were about to sit down to eat dinner, the doorbell rang. She hoped it wasn’t another reporter as she walked down the hall to the front door. She opened the door and saw Al standing there. Roxanne’s pulse spiked for the third time that day. This could not be good.

  Chapter 17

  BARRY STEPPED off the practice court, grabbed the towel dangled in his direction and wiped the sweat from his face. For a light shoot-around, practice had seemed hard to him. He couldn’t imagine how he was going to feel for the game that night. The groan inside him almost escaped. They had a West Coast road trip coming up next week. They needed a couple of wins now before they left.

  “Hey Barry, you looked pretty rough out there again today. How’s your daughter doing?” a reporter asked as he made his way to the locker room. It was about the millionth time he’d heard a variation of that comment followed by a variation of that question.

  He turned to face the reporters. He wondered if he looked as tired as he felt. “Lindy’s okay. She’s progressing as the doctors expected. But she’s still hurting. Same as before.” He’d said nearly the same words dozens of times a day every day for what seemed like forever now. Telling too many people who didn’t really care. He felt like telling them all to go to hell, but he didn’t. Instead, he whipped the towel down from around his neck and pushed through the locker room door, listening to the rest of the questions fired at his back without bothering to answer them.

  He changed and showered in record time. Without thinking. It was the only way he could function anymore. He blasted out the side door of the gymnasium into the parking lot, shivering in the bitter cold of the New Year’s Eve day.

  As he hurried to unlock the door of his black Caddy with his bare frozen fingers, he heard the crunch of footsteps behind him and swore under his breath. He was about to turn and lay into whichever reporter it was, when Dave spoke.

  “Jesus, you’re in a hurry. Where the hell you going? Got a hot date with Roxanne?” Dave stood waiting for his answer.

  “It’s fucking cold out here. Get in the car, will you?” Barry felt relief that it was Dave. He realized suddenly that he needed to talk. He needed to do more than talk, but he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind in the same corner as Roxanne.

  “What’s up? Dave asked as he settled into the roomy seat and rubbed his gloved hands together. Barry started the car to let it warm up and faced his friend.

  “I haven’t seen Roxanne. Or Lindy. Since Christmas.”

  “Yeah? What the hell’s going on? If you haven’t seen either of them, then there’s no damned excuse for your fucking poor performance at practice. What gives?” Dave didn’t even bother trying to mask his concern.

  “I’m not sure. I don’t think it’s such a hot idea for me to see either of them. Roxanne’s trouble—and getting worse all the time. And Lindy, well to tell you the truth Dave, she needs more than I can give her. Maybe she’d be better off with Paul Paris. At least they know each other. And I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.” He pushed his fingers through his cold wet hair. That was an understatement.

  “Is this some kind of cop-out?” Dave challenged.

  Barry had asked himself the same question many times. But he loved his daughter. That much he was sure of. The rest—how to be a parent—that was a mystery. And she needed someone now, someone capable and ready to say the right things to her, to comfort her. Paul seemed to be able to do that. Hell, they’d lived under the same roof for five years.

  “Yeah. Maybe it is,” he told his friend. “Look, I love Lindy, but I’ve never been a father to her. I’m more like her uncle, always have been. And I don’t know how to change that right now.” Barry stared ahead. He blew his warm breath onto his icy fingers.

  “Have you mentioned this to your lawyer?”

  “No. He’s a friend of Roxanne’s and she’d crucify me if I backed off the custody suit. Not that I should care what she thinks. But I do.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “Play basketball. It’s the only damned thing I know how to do.” He looked at his friend and Dave shook his head.

  “And what about Roxanne?”

  “Forget her. I’d like to see her and screw her till I drop.” He heard the wistful note in his own voice. He could almost smell her. Barry shook the thought from his mind.

  Dave laughed. “What you need is another woman. If I’m not mistaken, that’s frustration I hear. Why don’t you let me fix you up with someone?”

  “When?”

  “Tonight.”

  “You’re on.”

  When Barry arrived home, he found his cell phone and several more messages from Roxanne. She’d been calling him for four days. He decided he finally better call her back. At least he knew what to tell her now.

  He tapped her number and let it ring four times. As he was ready to click off, he heard her voice.

  “I got your messages.” His voice was tight. He forced himself to relax. Sinking back into the plump cushions of his couch, he put his feet up and stretched out. Twirling an unlit cigarette between his fingers, he waited.

  “Yeah. I gather from your overwhelmingly quick response that you’d rather I keep this call short.” She paused. But he didn’t bother to correct her impression. If she even wondered why he hadn’t called for days, she didn’t show she cared.

  “I need some money for the fund. There’ve been some problems.” Her tone was clipped and cool. Professional. More so than usual when she talked shop.

  And it burned him up. Anger flamed in him so that he thought he actually felt its heat in his face. He ought to calm himself, think before he said anything. He exploded.

  “You fucking call me day and night for days and it’s all because you want my fucking money? What the hell do you think I am?” What the hell was he? Was he supposed to go on being a machine, churning out money and playing basketba
ll until there was nothing else left?

  There was silence for what seemed like forever on the other end of the line while Barry waited, strung taut.

  “I don’t know what you are. That’s for you to decide. All I know is the game is off. As of right now. And I need $750,000 for Dr. Oki’s fund. Now. Today.” Her words were colder than cool this time. Hostile.

  And the game was off. The slam to his gut couldn’t have felt more real than a jab from Ali himself. The stinging started and he could tell it wasn’t about to let up. What did he do now? What did he say now? He’d wanted to end it with her himself, hadn’t he? She was doing him a favor, even if it felt like she was kicking the shit out of him.

  “You can have the money. See me after the game tonight.” He pressed the end button and tossed the phone. Even if he’d won the game by default there was no mistaking the sound of defeat in his voice.

  The answer was yes. He was supposed to go on churning out money and playing basketball. Like a machine. Because that’s all he was capable of.

  He sure as hell wasn’t capable of handling Roxanne. He thought about that and as it sunk into his brain that he was admitting defeat, the phone rang. He sprung up to retrieve it, surprised that his first reaction was to hope it was her again.

  But it wasn’t Roxanne.

  “Mr. Dennis, this is Dr. Oki at Children’s Mercy Hospital. I’m calling about Lindy. We have to schedule her for a final radical skin grafting operation and we’d like to do it next week. When can you come in to discuss it?”

  The doctor’s words added a nauseating feeling to his already bruised gut, which Barry thought might make him physically ill if he didn’t do something quick. He stood. Swiping at the sweat on his brow, he spoke into the phone with a shaky voice and snapped the cigarette held in his fingers in half.

  “Doc, is she going to be okay?”

  “We think so. But this is a difficult thing to go through for the patient. It’s very painful. To optimize the outcome it would be a good idea for you to come in and see her, talk to her…”

  He wondered irrationally if Roxanne had put him up to this. Then he remembered his schedule.

  “I won’t be around next week. We have a road trip to the West Coast for two weeks. Can you possibly postpone this?”

  “It’s possible. Can you come in now for a conference? We’ll talk about the schedule. Mr. Paris will be here, as will Lindy’s maternal grandparents. The plans must be agreeable to everyone. We are at a crucial stage in her treatment where family involvement becomes most important.”

  Barry hesitated to frame the question that was on his mind. He wanted to ask if Roxanne would be there too. Then he decided of course she wouldn’t be. She wasn’t family.

  “I’ll be there. I have to go to the bank anyway. Looks like you guys are running low on money.” He strived for a light note but he wasn’t sure why he’d say something like that to Dr. Oki.

  “Barry, we here at the hospital are all very grateful for your generosity, especially the other children and their parents.”

  “Sure, Doc. It’s nothing. Glad to do it. Really. See you in an hour.” He signed off. The sweat coated his face in a light film. The fury simmered just below the surface. Roxanne made him insane with her demands. But he couldn’t exactly blame this on her.

  He didn’t look forward to confronting either Paul Paris or his ex-in-laws. But the thought of seeing Lindy suddenly didn’t seem as daunting as it had. He would go and talk to her and sign whatever forms they had for him and get out.

  Tonight he could be back to himself again. Playing basketball. He headed for the garage, grabbing his jacket. Maybe Lindy would watch his game tonight. The thought buoyed him. It was a new sensation. He smiled until he got behind the wheel and his thoughts turned back to the business at hand. The bank. Roxanne.

  “Barry Dennis played spectacularly tonight as the Celtics beat their old archrivals, the Philadelphia 76ers. He came up with a triple double, scoring twenty-eight points, nabbing fourteen rebounds and dishing seventeen assists,” a nearby sportscaster said as he stood in front of a camera outside the Celtics dressing room. Roxanne was relieved that he’d done so well and the team won. She hoped it put him in a generous mood.

  But she dreaded seeing him. He had made his feelings clearer than spring water. He was ditching her and playing the meaner-than-ever basketball machine. She had called their game off. She was beyond disappointed that he hadn’t argued; that she hadn’t explained.

  Standing on the edge of the parquet on the still-lit court near the locker room tunnel, she shook her head. No matter how it was between them, one thing was certain, she needed to convince Barry of the importance of his role as Lindy’s father. She knew firsthand how much a little girl who’d lost her mother needed her father.

  With the empty Garden surrounding her, she looked up at the scoreboard as if it held life’s very secrets. She couldn’t help dreaming. She hadn’t been this anxious about anything since…well, since she began her affair with Barry six months ago.

  She turned toward the dimly lit corridor and walked in the direction of the hubbub as some of the players came out of the locker room. She couldn’t postpone her meeting with Barry any longer. Then she declared herself silly, as she felt the rush of adrenaline and the hammering of her heartbeat.

  Why hadn’t she told Barry that the police were going to come by and question him today? Why hadn’t she told him that she was now completely unemployed?

  And why the hell didn’t she tell him the reason she couldn’t play the damned game anymore was because she’d fallen in love with him?

  Waiting outside the locker room, Roxanne recognized some of the media people, but for once in her life, she tried to keep a low profile. Unfortunately, Pat Banyan from the Herald wasn’t about to let his opportunity to get even with her slip away.

  “Roxanne Monet? How are you? What are you doing here? No, let me guess.” The man stepped up to her. He didn’t quite reach her height since she wore heels. He held out his hand, but she wasn’t about to take it. For all his toothy grin and friendly tone, she could hear the menacing sarcasm underneath and knew he was ready to pounce.

  “You’re waiting for Barry Dennis, right? Hot night on the town? I can see it now: ‘Hoop Superstar Dates Murder Suspect—Loses Custody Battle.’ And what else? We’ll see, I suppose. The man stands to lose a lot. And I thought he was smart.” Banyan’s chuckle sounded like a growl. More than a few interested stares turned in their direction. Exactly as he wanted it to maximize her embarrassment. It was clear he didn’t care much about Barry Dennis and he cared even less about any consequences to her. But that was the business of the media and she ought to know. Her conscience pinged at the thought, but this was no time to be thinking about a career change.

  “Are you the last word on intelligence, Mr. Banyan?” She allowed the skepticism to drag out her words. He flushed pink. He must not be used to public insult. Unlike herself. She was becoming quite immune to lewd, scathing looks, remarks, and other bad vibes from the world at large. One could get used to anything when one had no choice.

  “Mind if I ask you a few questions?” He paused. She didn’t answer. She wondered where Barry was. Banyan continued in a louder voice.

  “Why did you kill your husband? Was it for Barry Dennis?” The man looked around then, satisfied at the gasps from the small crowd of people. In spite of their shocked sensibilities, there was a subtle shift of movement in the group that seemed to bring them closer to her. Or maybe she was paranoid.

  Keeping herself from slapping the self-satisfied grin from Banyan’s face took about all the willpower she possessed.

  “Not talking, eh? Well, I’ll get the story one way or another, Ms. Monet.”

  “I’m sure you will. I hope you’re not disappointed.” Thankfully the media was let into the dressing room then and he joined the throng streaming in the door. Roxanne was left in the hall with the players’ families and friends and she sighed with relief. For
the moment.

  The others looked at her sideways, thanks to Pat’s loud mention of her current notorious status as a number one murder suspect. The one thing that really bothered her about all this was the possible effect on Lindy. She didn’t want the little girl hurt. And she didn’t want Barry’s custody battle hurt. She swept the thought to the back of her mind and focused on the business of tonight’s visit. She knew if she saw herself in a mirror right now she’d see defiance in her face. Her jaw clenched with it.

  Guilt was one thing she was determined they’d sure as hell never see. She glared back at one woman glancing her way. The woman was startled and quickly looked away to talk to her friend in a frantic whisper.

  Roxanne hoped to God that Barry would dress quickly tonight and evade the clutches of the press. She wondered what questions they might ask that had nothing to do with basketball. Whatever they wanted to know, they were taking their time. At quarter to ten on New Year’s Eve, Roxanne was still waiting outside the Celtics dressing room. At one point the security guard asked her her business.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be glad to leave. As soon as Barry Dennis walks through that door.” She lifted her chin toward the Celtics locker room.

  “You media?” He checked the red media pass clipped to her Louis Vuitton.

  “No.”

  “Oh. I get it.” He leered.

  “Good for you.” Roxanne turned from the man and walked toward one of the locker room doors.

  Barry stood in the locker room doorway and scanned the hall and saw Roxanne. She stood there with her hands on her hips, bag slung over a shoulder, wearing a slinky black dress and clutching a faux fur that dragged on the floor next to her. He schooled his face to neutral as it occurred to him she might as well be tapping her toe with her impatience. Inwardly, he grinned.