Playing for Keeps

by Yahrah St. John

  “Oh, I’m fine,” she replied, trying to sound cheery, even though she felt the exact opposite. “How are things at the law firm? Are you still hoping to make partner this year?”

  “I sure am. I’ve been working my fanny off in the hopes there will be a big payoff.”

  “I’m sure it will, Julia. You have the drive and the ambition,” Avery said. “Listen, I was hoping you could do me a favor.”

  “Anything for a soror.”

  “Well, I am in need of a private investigator with absolute discretion and I was hoping you might know of someone.” Given her parents’ social standing in the community, she didn’t want word of this leaking out.

  “Is everything all right, Avery? Are you in some kind of trouble?” Julia asked. “If so, you know I’ll help any way I can.”

  “No, no. It’s nothing like that. It’s nothing criminal. I just need some information.”

  “All right, let me get his number out of my Black-Berry.” Julia paused for several moments before returning to the line. “His name is Woody Owen. He’s my go-to guy. If someone is hiding something, he’ll find it. And Woody will treat you with the utmost confidentiality.”

  “Excellent,” Avery said. “He’s just what I need.”

  Ten minutes later, she had an appointment to meet with Mr. Owen at his office near the courthouse later that day.

  The rest of the afternoon, Avery was as jittery as a cat. She was dying to meet Woody, since walk-in traffic was slow at the gallery, but Hunter was watching her like a hawk. Avery was admiring several abstract paintings when Quentin Davis walked in.

  What is he doing here? Avery wondered. Every time she was around him for longer than a few minutes, he threw her off balance, and she didn’t need that today, so she hid behind a wall to prevent him from seeing her.

  She watched and admired the man from afar. He exuded raw sex appeal even from across the room. She didn’t know if it was his glistening bald head or the way his jeans hung low to his well-shaped posterior. All she knew was that she was attracted to him and that would never do. He was all wrong for her. She preferred the clean-cut, suit-and-tie type. So what was it about Quentin Davis that caused her to get all hot and bothered?

  Avery didn’t take the time to find out. She scurried off to the ladies’ room to bring down her rapid pulse and to check her appearance. She smoothed her ponytail and bangs, straightened her diamond heart necklace and checked her lipstick. Satisfied that she looked presentable, Avery exited the restroom and walked toward the front of the gallery. She found Quentin leaning over the reception desk speaking with the intern they’d recently hired.

  She stopped a few feet from their little tête-à-tête and waited to be acknowledged. Quentin finally glanced in her direction and when he did, Avery nearly froze in place, her breath catching in her throat as he rewarded her with a disarming smile.

  “Avery.” Quentin straightened and strolled toward her. “Just the person I was looking for.” He had decided to make a spur-of-the-moment stop at the Henri Lawrence Gallery. He hadn’t forgotten the bet, and it was time he paid it due attention.

  “Oh, why was that?” Avery asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

  “Well…” Quentin started, but then stopped in front of a painting. “This is an excellent piece of abstract work, don’t you think? I love the artist’s use of color and form.”

  “Yes, I agree. Forbes has an amazing gift for depicting objects in an unconventional way, but I doubt you came all this way to discuss art,” Avery replied, glancing sideways at Quentin.

  “No, I didn’t.” He shifted his gaze to Avery. He allowed his eyes to travel from her conservative pumps, her black wide-leg pants up to her crisp white shirt and black vest.

  Avery tried hard to keep her eyes on the painting, but with the way Quentin was staring at her, she found it difficult to remain focused.

  “I came to ask you to dinner.”

  “Dinner?”

  “Yes, you know, it’s called a date when two people agree to share a meal at the same table.” Quentin laughed as he spoke.

  “I know what a date is,” Avery replied tersely.

  “Perhaps you haven’t been on one in a while?” he asked. “If so, I’d like to remedy that.”

  “Just because we agreed to be civil doesn’t mean I’d agree to share dinner with you,” she responded.

  “Please don’t tell me we’re back to square one again? I thought we agreed to be friends and if so, you can look on this as a friendly dinner.”

  Avery was about to answer when Hunter came toward them. “Hunter, I’d like you to meet Quentin Davis.” Avery relished the thought of changing the subject.

  “Mr. Davis,” Hunter said. “It’s a pleasure to have you at the gallery.” Hunter hadn’t realized that he was the world-renowned photographer when he’d crashed Gabriel’s showing.

  Quentin glanced at the interloper. He didn’t appreciate his conversation with Avery being interrupted. “Thank you. And you are?” He was trying to make headway with the beautiful diva.

  “Hunter Garrett, the director of the gallery.”

  Avery watched Hunter puff out his chest as if he were some big dog and extend his hand. She despised Hunter’s posturing. He didn’t hold a candle to Quentin’s naturally broad chest.

  “Pleasure to meet you, Hunter,” Quentin said, shaking his hand. Then a mischievous thought popped into his head. He could use Hunter to help him on his mission. “I was just asking Ms. Roberts to dinner so that we could discuss the possibility of exhibiting some of my work.”

  “Would you really be interested in exhibiting in a gallery as small as ours?” Hunter asked.

  Avery gave Quentin the evil eye. She knew exactly what he was up to. He was using her job as a way to get her to go out with him. She could strangle him!

  “I could be persuaded over dinner if Avery would agree to accompany me,” Quentin said open-endedly. He couldn’t disguise the glint of humor in his eyes as he smiled at Avery. He could see the wheels turning in her head and knew she could spit nails at him, but he suspected she would do the right thing.

  Hunter whirled around and glared at Avery. When she didn’t speak up, Hunter spoke for her. “I’m sure Avery would love to join you for dinner to discuss an exhibition. Wouldn’t you, Avery?”

  She feigned a polite smile and said what was expected. Especially since her boss was present. “Of course, HLG would be honored to have someone of your caliber exhibit here.”

  “Excellent,” Hunter said, leaving the duo. “I’ll leave you to the details.”

  Once Hunter was no longer within earshot, Avery glared daggers at Quentin. “How dare you use my job as a weapon against me?”

  “It was the only way I could get you to agree,” Quentin fired back. “And who knows, you just might enjoy a night out.”

  “I doubt that, but seeing as I don’t have much choice…where should I meet you for this grand date?”

  “Why don’t I pick you up?”

  “Oh no, I’m not giving you my address so you can show up at my apartment unannounced any time you feel like it. No, thank you.” Avery crossed her arms stubbornly.

  Quentin inched closer to her until their faces were inches apart. “Why must you challenge me on everything? Why can’t you just let me be a man and pick you up like a regular date? Or do you get a kick out of being a shrew?”

  Avery stepped back. What she didn’t like was how vulnerable she felt whenever she was around him. “No, I don’t get a kick out of it. You just happen to bring out the worst in me,” she huffed. “But I suppose you can pick me up.”

  She sauntered over to the reception desk, giving Quentin a delicious view of her derriere as she swished in front of him. She quickly scribbled her address and handed him the Post-it.

  Their fingers touched when he accepted the note. Quentin felt a spark and he was sure Avery had to feel it, too, even though her expression revealed nothing. “Thank you.” He grinned. “That wasn’t so dif
ficult, was it?” When she didn’t reply, Quentin said, “I’ll see you at seven on Friday.”

  Once the door had shut behind him, Avery exhaled. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath the entire time.

  Chapter 4

  A very told Hunter that she had a doctor’s appointment later that afternoon, so she could meet with Woody Owen. Hunter wasn’t too happy about it, but Avery couldn’t care less. She needed answers.

  Woody’s office was nothing like what Avery had imagined. She’d expected a private investigator’s office to be chaos and disorder like in the movies. Instead, she found a modern decor and abstract artwork lining the walls. And she was even further off the mark with Woody. He had a shock of white hair, a big grin and was casually dressed in a polo shirt and khaki trousers. He looked like a grandfather rather than a hard-nosed detective, and he sure didn’t mince words either.

  “Have you thought about why you’re doing this?” he asked.

  “Of course, or I wouldn’t be here,” Avery returned sarcastically. “I need to know my roots, if only for medical conditions. What if I have kids one day?”

  “All right, then, I’m not going to sugarcoat this for you, Ms. Roberts. You have a long road ahead of you. Months, possibly years. Your original birth certificate that has your biological mother’s name has been sealed, so if she hasn’t registered with an agency or signed a consent form to release her identity, then it’s going to be an uphill battle to find her. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

  “Yes.” Avery nodded.

  “First thing we need to do is gather as much information as we can,” he said. “Such as your date of birth, the state in which you were born and the state where your adoption was finalized and most importantly what agency arranged your adoption.”

  “What do you mean, date of birth? I was born on November 3rd,” Avery replied haughtily.

  “Possibly, or perhaps you were born several days before,” he responded. “We just can’t be sure. We have to check a few days before and after your birth date.”

  “Ohmigod!” Avery shook her head. Even her birth date could be a lie? “This is a nightmare.”

  “I know this seems daunting,” Woody said, trying to calm her down from behind his desk, “but we may get lucky. You just never know in these situations. My advice is to talk to your parents and find out as much information as you can.”

  Her parents! They were the last people Avery wanted to see. Right now, she didn’t want to have anything to do with them.

  “I know you’re angry,” Woody said, “but they’re our best bet.”

  “Thank you for your time.” Avery stood and shook Woody’s hand. She appreciated his forthrightness. “I’ll be in touch.”

  After she left his office, all she wanted to do was cry. She wanted to crawl up into a burrow like a groundhog and not come out until spring. Whether she wanted to or not, she was going to have to contact her parents if she wanted more details on her adoption, which was an unpleasant task and one she was not looking forward to.

  When her father called mid-week, Avery had no choice but to accept his lunch invitation. She hoped he would be able to shed some light on her adoption and provide cold hard facts that she could forward to Woody. These thoughts rumbled through Avery’s mind as she met her father at the Lenox Room.

  Painted in deep reds and oranges, with cozy chairs and incandescent lighting, the restaurant had a very relaxed atmosphere, which was probably why her father had chosen it.

  Prompt as always, Avery found him already seated at a table for two and dressed in a three-piece suit. He looked handsome even with a receding hairline. “Avery, I’m so glad you agreed to see me.” Her father stood up as she approached.

  When he leaned over and placed a light kiss on her cheek, Avery flinched as if burned and quickly sat down. It was hard to believe that the man she’d adored her entire life was not a blood relation. She’d always been Daddy’s little girl.

  “I know you’re angry with me and your mother,” he began.

  “Please, Dad.” Avery put up a hand to halt him from continuing. “That’s the understatement of the year. This isn’t like the time you forbid me to go to the Rolling Stones and I didn’t speak to you for a week. The wound is much deeper.”

  “I realize that, Avery,” her father responded, “but I was hoping since you’d had several days to digest this information, you might be open to hearing our reasons why.”

  “What possible reason would you have for keeping the truth from me at this late date?” When he started to speak, Avery interrupted him. “Don’t answer that. I bet you it was Mother. Wasn’t it? She was the one who made you continue this farce?”

  “No.” Her father shook his head. “We both agreed it was for the best.”

  “Do you honestly expect me to believe that, Dad? I know Mother. I know what she’s like. Heaven forbid I see her as less than the perfect wife and mother.” Appearances were everything to Veronica Roberts.

  “That’s true, she’s not perfect,” her father acquiesced. “She’s human and as much as she’d like to think she’s perfect, she’s not because humans make mistakes.”

  “So that’s it?” Avery asked, her voice rising. “That’s it? I’m supposed to just sweep this under the rug to spare Mother’s feelings. Well, I won’t do that, Dad, and you can’t expect me to.”

  “I don’t, sweetheart. I just expect you to listen and have an open mind.”

  “Okay, fine. I’m listening.” Avery settled back in her chair.

  “Well…” her father started. “Initially, we had every intention of telling you the truth when you were old enough to understand.”

  “Did you ever try, Dad?”

  Clayton Roberts nodded his head. “Yes, we did. You were eight and all the kids at school were questioning why you looked different from your mother and me.”

  Avery remembered that all too vividly. Young children could be cruel, and they had made fun of her light complexion and her funny-looking tiger eyes, as they’d called them. They’d always asked her why she was so light while her parents were the color of rich caramel. “And as I recall,” Avery said, “you lied and told me that Mother’s great-great grandmother was mulatto.”

  “Yes, we did, because by that point, we’d come to see you as our own flesh and blood, so much so that the truth began to matter less and less. And once we made that choice, there was no going back.”

  “That does not excuse the lies.” Avery refused to let him off the hook that easily. “I’m old enough to understand, Dad. And I want the whole truth and nothing but, starting with names and places.”

  “Why?”

  She didn’t hesitate to answer. “Because I’m going to find my biological parents, starting with my birth mother.”

  “You can’t!” her father shouted across the table. Several patrons looked up, so he lowered his voice. “Avery, you can’t do this.”

  “I’m not asking your permission,” she said. “I am going to find them with or without you, but I was hoping it would be the former.”

  “I don’t know, Avery.” Her father’s head hung low. “If your mother ever found out, this would hurt her terribly.”

  “I’m sorry, Dad. Really, I am, but this can’t be avoided. I need to know where I come from if nothing else than for medical purposes. What if I ever have some kids someday? I need to know my family’s medical history.”

  Her father sighed. Avery could tell he was wrestling with some internal demons, but without his help, it would be a lot harder for Woody to unearth the truth, if ever, and it would take a whole lot longer. “Well?” Wide-eyed, Avery peered into her father’s dark brown eyes. “What’s it going to be?”

  After a long pause, he finally answered. “All right. I’ll help you, but your mother’s not going to like this.” Clayton Roberts was certain of that fact. Veronica was going to hit the roof when she found out. And now was definitely not the time to tell her; she was already so distraught fro
m this secret coming out. Clayton doubted she could take hearing that Avery was searching for her biological parents.

  Avery nodded. “What I need to know is the name of the agency you and Mom used. And who oversaw my adoption.” She pulled out a legal pad, ready to take down some notes.

  Over the next hour, her father informed her that Peter Gallagher, an attorney and close family friend, had handled her adoption. Avery discovered she had not been born in Manhattan as her birth certificate indicated. She’d actually been born and officially adopted in New Hampshire. Her parents had picked her up hours after the delivery. Apparently, her biological mother hadn’t wanted to see her for fear she might never be able to give her up. Avery was disturbed that she had handed her daughter off to Clayton and Veronica Roberts without ever seeing her baby girl.

  After lunch, Avery thanked her father for his openness and honesty. She knew it was difficult for him to do the exact opposite of what her mother would want, but Avery assured him that he’d done the right thing. She even responded to his hug upon leaving and told him she’d be in touch if she found out any news. They both agreed to keep this information to themselves until Avery found out anything substantial. Why upset her mother unnecessarily?

  When she called Woody on her way back to the gallery, he informed her that New Hampshire was a state that permitted adoptees over the age of eighteen to receive a non-certified copy of their original birth certificate. So Avery made a pit stop by his office to copy her driver’s license and fill out the necessary application form required by the Vital Records Department, along with a permission note that Woody’s secretary notarized, which would allow Woody to receive the documentation. Once she gained access to her original birth certificate, then Woody would have somewhere to begin his search.

  When she arrived back at the gallery, a long black stretch limousine was parked outside. Inside, she found Hunter with the owner of the gallery, and from the looks of it, Hunter was giving Mr. Lawrence an earful.

  “Hunter, Mr. Lawrence.” Avery nodded to the two men.