“You’re still early for a midnight kiss. I have about five minutes to meet my friends. Besides, there still may be some press lurking around here and you’ve already gotten me into enough trouble for one evening.” He looked at her. He knew his tone was angry. He didn’t feel very angry. Not at her anyway. He wanted to kiss her. To wipe that wounded look off her face that had been there all night since the police had arrived.
He’d never worried about her before, and he shouldn’t be starting now. Especially not now. It was hard enough for him to realize that he’d gone over the line and he had to get back. He couldn’t afford this. Lindy couldn’t afford this.
“I’m referring to the money.” She paused and it sank into his head. She wore an impatient frown, her arms folded across her chest.
“Oh yes. How could I forget? That’s what this is all about. My damned money. You didn’t get enough of Don’s and now you need mine? And I foolishly thought you wanted me …”
Roxanne swung her black-gloved hand and slapped him hard across the face. The blow turned his head and it also made him realize what the churning emotions inside him were all about. At this moment, he hated this woman with a fierce intensity.
And he also loved her with equal intensity.
He stood, marveling, as he tasted the blood in his mouth. She stood and stared at him with a very unkind expression. He was on the blade of that famous double-edged sword of love and hate. And he knew which side he needed to end up on.
“Who should I make the check out to? The hospital or you?” He reached into his jacket and withdrew his checkbook.
She watched him, unblinking, and he thought he heard her swear under her breath before answering him.
“You could make it out to me, but then you wouldn’t get a tax break.” Her tone did not match the lightness of her comment. She continued to stare.
He took a breath and wrote her name. “I don’t know why. You’re such a worthy cause after all. How much?” He asked her with his pen poised above his checkbook. He couldn’t understand his desire to mock her until she broke. He felt pain and a drive to destroy at the same time.
“Seven hundred fifty thousand dollars.” She tightened her jaw and compressed her lips, and if it were possible, hardened her stare at him.
He whistled at the amount and wrote it on the check. “You’re worth it. But you owe me. Want to start tonight?” He handed the check to her.
She took a quick glance at it and then tore it into tiny pieces and let them drop in front of him. “You bastard,” she snarled, then turned and almost ran to her car.
There was absolutely no humor in the chuckle he heard coming from himself. He’d hurt her. He’d wanted to. But there was no pleasure in seeing her pain after all. In fact, he was finding it was very painful for him too.
Barry arrived at the Bay Tower Room too late. It was after midnight and the champagne had been let loose everywhere, along with confetti, streamers, noisemakers and a general hullabaloo of celebration. This was the first time he could remember in recent years that he’d entered a room in public without feeling like he was wearing a neon sign that attracted everyone’s attention. The novelty of being anonymous felt as good as it did strange.
The maitre d’ showed him to his party and it was distinctly less cheerful at that table than the rest of the normally subdued place. Until they saw him.
“How did it go? We’ve been speculating all night. I don’t mind telling you I’ve been fucking concerned. Short money said you’d be locked up,” Dave said. He stood and gave him Barry a hearty handshake and a wary smile.
Barry grinned back, touched by Dave’s concern. He sat down.
“Well?” Vicki asked.
His date studied him, probably didn’t know what the hell to expect next. What should she expect? he asked himself. What was he doing with her? Of course, that prompted thoughts of Roxanne, which caused a distinct tightening of his muscles and tension in his head. Roxanne was to him like the Rubik’s cube to a moron—a tempting but insoluble puzzle.
“No problem. The police are investigating, but I think in the end they’ll find there was no murder. And that’s the end of discussion on that topic for the evening, if you don’t mind.” He grinned at Karen Marie Callahan and she responded nicely.
“But that woman, Roxanne Monet? What’s your involvement with her?” Karen Marie insisted on asking with a wary smile that told him she needed to be reassured. He considered what to say to satisfy her when Dave answered for him.
“Fund-raising business with Children’s Mercy Hospital. She volunteers for them. She’s gotten friendly with Lindy.” Dave paused and nodded at him. “I assume that’s going to end under the circumstances?” Dave’s expression turned grim.
“True.” Barry picked up the half-filled glass of champagne in front of him and raised it in a mock toast before draining it. It was very difficult to drink with his throat constricted with tension, but he forced it down anyway. Lindy was not going to take this well. He’d avoided thinking about that confrontation until now and he wished he could avoid thinking about it until tomorrow. Then he’d have to talk to her about it.
Grabbing the open bottle of champagne, he determined he’d give forgetting a hell of a try and poured himself another glass. “Now can we close the subject?” He looked to his date and raised his glass again. “Here’s to our enjoying the rest of the evening.” He smiled and took another long sip of champagne, looking the woman over more closely. He needed relief tonight and he was hopeful.
“Great game tonight Mr. Dennis.” A passing waiter paused long enough to comment. That was a step exactly in the right direction and Barry took it and held onto that thought.
“Wasn’t it, though?” He grinned without modesty. The women made faces and Dave laughed with pleasure. Inevitably a discussion of that night’s game ensued and the women excused themselves to the powder room.
“Yeah, tonight’s game was just about perfect,” Barry said.
“Yeah. The whole evening would have been perfect if Roxanne Monet hadn’t shown up. What the hell was she doing there tonight? Dragging the police along with her. Was she trying to set you up or what?”
“No. I told her to stop by. To take care of some business.” Barry fingered his empty glass, and then he looked up at his friend. “I promised her some money.” He knew the inevitable conclusion his friend would draw, that Barry had purposely lead him to draw.
“What the hell are you doing? You’re not going to let her soak you, are you?”
Barry had known what Dave would think and what he would say. But when he heard the words, they sounded harsh, as well as untrue. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t believe the insinuations about Roxanne being a gold digger and murderer. As much as he didn’t want to, he had to defend her.
“No. The money’s for the hospital. She’s not soaking me for money. I’ll send her the check tomorrow.” He paused and watched Dave take this in. He knew the very lack of insistence in his voice was what convinced Dave. Then he found himself continuing. “She’s innocent, you know.” He leaned forward in his chair and this time his voice was insistent. “And if I can help her, I will.” There was defiance in his voice but he knew the opposition would not come from Dave. It would come from himself.
“And I thought you two were just playing games,” Dave said.
Barry’s eyes zeroed in on Dave’s at the mention of games. But how could he know? It was an innocent comment.
“Yeah. Well you know how I like to win—no matter what the game.” He grinned with more brightness than he felt.
“Lately I’ve noticed you seem to want to win those games a hell of a lot more than basketball games. Until tonight anyway.” Dave shrugged.
“Damned right until tonight. You’re looking at a new man. It felt good tonight. Damned good to play like that. I think I forgot how good it felt.”
“Feel better than her?” Dave asked. Barry felt as if his mind had been read. The thought put him on edge a
nd he had to tell himself to calm down.
He smiled at his friend and slapped him on the back as the two women returned. “You bet.”
“What have you guys been talking about?” Karen Marie asked. Barry answered quickly.
“About what a great game we played tonight, of course. And about how it’s a better feeling than a woman.” He looked at her with purposeful challenge in his stare.
“Oh? Then you’ve been seeing the wrong woman all this time.” Karen Marie curled her lips allowing only one conclusion.
“I suppose you think you’re the woman to change my mind?” Barry hoped to hell she could.
“Ahem. Do you think you could wait to have this conversation later? Like after we leave and you’re alone at last?” Vicki said, leaning into the conversation.
Karen laughed and flashed Barry a promising smile. But it lacked edge. “Okay. As long as we don’t have to wait too long,” she said.
She didn’t. They ended up having only one more drink before leaving. Barry was anxious to get home and took Karen Marie with him. In the car, he turned the key and turned to her. She sat right next to him in the middle of the front seat. A girl hadn’t done that with him since high school.
“Your place or mine?” He didn’t care if he sounded corny. He only wanted the answer.
“Yours,” she said. Then she snuggled up closer and put her hands in his crotch as he pulled the car out into the street.
“Jesus Christ, Karen. I want to get there in one piece,” Barry said.
“Oh, we’ll get there. You seem tense, like you could use some loosening up.” She continued ‘loosening him up,’ a bit more tentatively.
“Guilty as charged.” He attempted a smile, but wasn’t sure how successful he was. In any case, he let Karen Marie work her magic with her hands. What the hell. Before he knew it, before they ever arrived home, he was relieved of a lot of tension.
When they reached his house they went straight to his bedroom and he took her. The first time fast, but it wasn’t enough. The next time was slower and then she fell asleep. He was left awake. He wished he could fall asleep, if only to escape from thinking about Lindy and … about Roxanne.
“Hell, it can’t be fireworks every time,” he thought aloud. Then he remembered the last time with Roxanne.
Roxanne paced the kitchen floor with a cup of coffee in her hand debating whether or not to call Al. She needed that $750,000 and maybe if they settled the wrongful death civil suit by agreeing to split the proceeds from the house she’d be able to get the money. She didn’t want to have to tell Laura she couldn’t come up with it.
As she paced by the television, she fleetingly thought of turning it on to hear the news, but she thought better of that idea. She’d rather not know. They’d probably had a field day with last night’s police fiasco.
She’d stopped getting the paper since the investigation into Don’s death had reopened. She had no desire to see her name trashed. It was tougher to avoid the news every time she looked at a computer or her iPad. So she’d quit doing that too. Not even her avid curiosity tempted her to read what they were saying. The gist of it eventually seeped in anyway. Al read everything.
The one thing she tried to avoid thinking about was Barry. His behavior was insulting and cruel, even considering the situation, even for him. She knew he was in pain. That’s why he was playing angry when they both knew it was over. Maybe it was easier for him that way. At least she could be grateful that his behavior left her more angry than sad. There would be plenty of time to be sad later.
Checking her Timex, she realized it was already after eight a.m. and she had to decide now. The doorbell rang and Bonnie answered it. Roxanne paused then continued her pacing, thinking how she could put the question to Al without sounding too desperate. She didn’t want the money from Barry, yet she didn’t want to have to turn it down.
She looked up to see Barry standing in the kitchen doorway. The dark waves of his hair still glistened from his morning shower. His blue eyes blazed with challenge. She looked back at him with a matching expression. Then she picked up her pacing again.
“What do you want? Aren’t you taking a big risk being seen here after last night?” She emphasized the sarcasm. She didn’t even look at him. Bonnie walked in behind him.
“Roxanne Monet. Is that any way to talk?” Bonnie scolded.
“He deserves it.” Roxanne stopped pacing and faced him boldly. Everything was showing on her face and she knew it. But she’d warned him the game of pretense was over. And this was what was left. Raw emotion.
He stepped toward her and put his hand out to cup her chin. Bonnie left the room.
“Well?” she asked. He dropped his hand. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a check made out to Children’s Mercy Hospital for $750,000, dated yesterday.
“Happy New Year,” he said. Then he folded his arms and stood before her. She looked at him and back at the check. Then she looked back at his unrelenting smirk. She had the urge to rip the check into pieces again as she waved it precariously in the air. Instead she tossed it on the table.
“If I weren’t so desperate for this money for the fund-raising campaign I’d enjoy telling you to go to hell,” she said with her hands on her hips, mustering as much attitude as she had left in her.
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And I thought you were through playing games, Roxy?” He stepped closer.
He was right. Her face heated. Could she go on with the charade of being angry with him when it was herself that she blamed? Could she afford not to? Could she finally face the real pain, the unrelenting sadness?
She had no choice. The tears fell. She took a deep breath. Letting him see her hurt was one thing, but she would not be hysterical. She loved him. She couldn’t have him.
That was that.
Until he took her by the shoulders and pulled her to him. He kissed her. She let him do it just this one last time. He held her tight. The hunger, the anger, the caring, the hurt, the need, the desire, she felt it all in the unrelenting press of his mouth to hers. In herself and in him. She felt gloriously dizzy with emotion.
After he kissed her, it was more difficult to keep his game face in place, but he had no choice. He looked at the clock. He had to leave.
“Leaving?” There was no accusation or pleading in her voice, only recognition of an already accepted conclusion. She was composed, but far from the cool woman she once played. This woman was harder to leave, with her proud, pain-filled eyes.
“I have to go. I have to see Lindy today, talk to her. Then there’s a shoot-around at noon.” He wouldn’t have come unless he knew he couldn’t stay.
“You shouldn’t have bothered to come.” She turned from him and walked to the window overlooking the deck. He couldn’t stand it.
“I didn’t want to leave it like this between us, Rox.” He spoke without thinking. When she turned back to look at him, he felt vulnerable. That wasn’t what he wanted either.
“What do you want, Barry?” she asked with her unblinking wide eyes.
“I don’t know. I want you. I want Lindy. I want basketball. I want it all.” He sucked in his gut ready for a blow. He must be crazy.
“Can you handle it all?” She asked the question he’d been claiming to know the answer to all along. It was still true.
“No. Damn it to hell. I can’t fucking handle it all. But it’s there anyway, isn’t it? It’s fucking life, isn’t it? Do we really get to choose what we can handle or not?” He grabbed her by the shoulders again and penetrated her eyes with his. He saw his reflection and knew she could see everything inside him.
“Everyone makes their choices. One way or another.” She sounded resigned. She pulled away from his grasp and he could see clearly what her choice was going to be. She didn’t want a piece of Barry Dennis. He’d known all along it would be all or nothing with her. She would not be playing any more games with him.
He stepped back and turned away, willing himself to cool
off, to calm down. “I have to go.”
“Then leave. I didn’t ask you to come here.” Her voice was surprisingly angry.
“I’m sorry you won’t be able to see Lindy anymore.” The words came from nowhere, but he meant them. He saw her flinch, but then fury creased her brow and lit her eyes.
“She doesn’t want to see me, you God damned fool. She wants you. YOU. And all you do is talk about stepping up as if you have all the time in the world to talk yourself into being a real parent. Which is what you should have been all along instead of some mildly interested half-assed ‘uncle’ type.”
“What the…”
“You had a father? Remember? Remember how interested he was in you? How he devoted himself to you? Your daughter deserves the same and it’s time you stopped playing games with her. All you ever do is play games. You’ve done nothing all your life but play games as if that was all there was to life. Life is not a fucking game, Barry. Not with me and most importantly not with your daughter.”
“Who the hell are you to talk?” He couldn’t let her get away with this. She was no better.
“I’m a woman who was once a girl like Lindy with a dead mother and an asshole father who was absent in every way that it counted.” She stood with hands on her hips within touching distance and her face glowing pink with rage.
He felt like there was a black tumor in his gut rising to his throat. Dizziness crept in from the sides of his mind, threatening to shut down his thinking. But he stared at her and thought about Roxanne as a little girl. He pictured Lindy. When he spoke his voice felt rusty and hollow.
“It’s about your father isn’t it? He’s why you …do everything you do.” He almost accused her of not trusting men. But that was too simple for what she was about.
“No. It’s about your father. He trained you to be single-minded in your pursuit of the Holy Grail. ‘To be the Best’ to a fault.” She paused and looked at him as if he might be too battered an opponent to take another punch at before continuing. “But let me ask you—do you think if he were alive he would mind after all if you devoted yourself to your daughter? Ask yourself that.”
Playing the Game Page 29
