Serious Potential

by Maggie Cummings

  Tracy inched up on the bed, balancing awkwardly with her one good hand. “That’s not necessary. It’s cool. I’ll get an Uber or whatever.”

  She was dead serious and couldn’t help but smile when Betsy turned in the doorway, dropped her head, and looked out from under her long lashes. Betsy pointed to her name on her white coat. “See that?” She grinned. “It says Doctor.” She made a grand gesture of looking around. “In here, we give the orders. There’s even an expression…” She looked around, tapping her chin playfully, before meeting Tracy’s eyes again. “Now finish up. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

  As they made their way to Bay West, Tracy felt the full effect of the pain meds dulling her senses. “Were you at the hospital all night?” she asked sleepily.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you deliver a baby?”

  “No.” Betsy looked at the road ahead of her. “I did an emergency hysterectomy.”

  “That’s sad.”

  Betsy nodded once, possibly in agreement, Tracy wasn’t sure, and continued to drive. When they got to Meg’s, Tracy let Betsy help her inside even though it made her feel like a child.

  “Do you understand when to take your meds?” Betsy asked seriously.

  Tracy nodded.

  “And you’re going to let me take you to your follow-up in two days?”

  “Bets, it’s—” She stopped herself when she saw the stern look on Betsy’s face. “Okay. Yes.”

  “You should get some rest. Let’s get you to bed.”

  Tracy put her good hand up in protest. “I’m fine. I can put myself to bed.” She met Betsy’s sleepy eyes, and while she was appreciative of the offer, Betsy looked exhausted herself, and positively irresistible. Tracy wasn’t used to taking any kind of drugs. Under their influence, in the presence of the gorgeous doctor, she didn’t trust herself not to say something she wouldn’t be able to take back or, worse, be unable to act on.

  Betsy relented, but only after Tracy promised to call if she needed anything, and when Betsy used her authority to announce she would be back later anyway to see how she was doing, Tracy didn’t fight her at all.

  *

  Betsy wondered whether Meg suspected her daily trips to check on Tracy weren’t entirely necessary. Despite that she stopped by once a day.

  On Tuesday, when she popped in for her routine visit, she was greeted at Meg’s front door by Lexi and Jesse, who’d hoped she was the delivery person with the gang’s Chinese order.

  “Well, I hope you ordered Triple Jade, because I am starving,” she teased. They pulled her inside and Meg hooked her up with a drink, and when the food arrived, they sat around Meg’s table like one big gay family, passing the cartons around and chatting with ease.

  Betsy sized up her egg roll before biting off the corner. “Hey, Meg,” she asked while covering her mouth, “any chance you want to take a ride with me to P-town tomorrow?” It was a long shot, Betsy knew, but Meg had come through for her a few times in the past year, keeping her company as she drove the five-hour trek to the tip of Massachusetts to check on the progress of her home renovation.

  “Sorry,” Meg responded, “I have major meetings tomorrow and Thursday.”

  “What’s in P-town?” Tracy asked. Before anyone could answer her, she changed the question. “I mean, I know what’s in P-town. But why do you need to go there tomorrow?”

  Betsy wiped her mouth and explained to Tracy what the others already knew. She owned a house in P-town that she rented out most of the year, and for the last few months, she had been having extensive renovations done. Sometimes she made the trip to pick out a paint color or tile, other times she zipped up on a day off to monitor the progress.

  Tracy nodded into her beef with snow peas. “I’ll go.”

  Betsy waved her off. “It’s okay, I can go by myself.”

  Tracy narrowed her eyes. “Um, it’s not like I’m doing anything else.” She held up her splinted hand for emphasis. “Seriously, I’m in. I can’t really share the driving because of this”—she waved her hand again—“but I’m good company. Right, Meg?”

  “The best,” Meg offered without looking up.

  Betsy licked her lips and smiled. “Okay,” she said, hoping her heightened pitch didn’t reveal the nerves she felt over the prospect of an overnighter with Tracy Allen.

  *

  For a split second after waking up in the guest bedroom of Betsy’s modest P-town home, Tracy was so disoriented that she had no clue where she was. A fresh seaside breeze coming in through the open window brought her back to reality. She popped up right away, slid into her jeans, and, using her good hand, wrestled herself into a pullover. Shuffling down the stairs, she found Betsy already sitting at the half-finished kitchen island, reading a newspaper, two cups of takeout coffee in front of her.

  “Morning,” Tracy said, stretching her arms up over her head as she checked out the living room she’d barely glanced at after their very late arrival the previous evening.

  “How did you sleep?”

  “Great, thanks.”

  “Coffee?” Betsy asked, inching a cup toward Tracy. “I got yours black but there’s milk and sugar here,” she said pointing to the packets stacked neatly in the corner. Tracy nodded her appreciation as she dumped two creamers in and listened to Betsy lay out the morning plan.

  “So the construction guys should be here around ten. I just want to go over a few things with them.” She spun her paper cup on the counter. “After that I have a meeting with my property manager, which you are more than welcome at, but I can drop you off in town if you’d rather.”

  Tracy sipped her coffee. “I’ll just come with you, if that’s okay.” She met Betsy’s ever-changing eyes with a smile. When the workers arrived slightly after ten a.m., she stood to the side and listened as Betsy meticulously went over every detail with the foreman. Then they hopped in Betsy’s car and drove the short distance through town to the property manager’s office, where they were greeted by a plump woman with a dyed-red pixie cut. She exchanged a long hug with Betsy.

  “It’s good to see you, Marie.” Betsy broke free of the woman’s embrace and turned toward Tracy. “This is my friend—”

  “Tracy Allen,” the woman blurted out, finishing Betsy’s sentence. “Wow. What a pleasure.” She extended her hand. “I’m a huge fan.” Noticing Tracy’s bandage, she added, “What happened there?”

  Tracy accepted the woman’s handshake and dismissed her injury with a wave of her other hand. “Nothing serious. Just a little scratch.”

  Marie immediately began straightening up her sloppy office. “Sorry, this place is a mess.” She moved a stack of magazines off one chair so Betsy and Tracy could both sit. Walking around her desk, she turned back to Betsy. “What do you think of the progress on the house? Everything meeting your standards?”

  “It looks great, Marie.”

  Marie put both hands on her desk. “Good. I’m so glad you like it.” She continued to pile papers on her desk as she spoke. “They should finish the kitchen today. You saw the bathroom upgrades?” At Betsy’s nod, she continued, “I had them switch out all the hardware in the master bath, like we spoke about on the phone. Now everything matches.” She pulled out a calendar. “So here’s what we have lined up for the winter.” She pointed to a highlighted series of blocked-out weeks and weekends. “Of course I’ll email these dates to you, but I just want you to have an idea.”

  “Great, Marie.”

  Marie was visibly having a difficult time keeping her focus and kept stealing glances at Tracy. Finally she stopped trying to hide it. “I’m sorry. I just can’t believe Tracy Allen is in my office.”

  Tracy just smiled at the comment, while Marie continued to gush. “I saw you at the Dinah in April.”

  “You went to the golf tournament?” Tracy asked, genuinely surprised.

  Marie blushed a little. “Sorry, no. I saw you at the panel on youth revitalization programs. The one with Jezebel Stone.”


  “Right, of course.” Tracy nodded, trying hard not to clench her teeth at the memory.

  “You ladies were all so funny with each other.” Marie beamed. “You really made a serious topic fun and entertaining, as well as informative. It was probably my favorite part of the whole weekend.”

  Tracy smiled warmly, ever the professional.

  “Tell me something,” Marie went on, “are you all friends in real life—you, Jezebel Stone, Jennie Kent? Because you all really seemed to click. Or is that just part of the whole celebrity thing?” She waved her hands excitedly. “Sorry, I’m going on and on. Ignore me. But I am curious,” she finished, clearly waiting for an answer.

  Tracy remembered the event like it was yesterday. There’d been four of them on the panel, but most of the banter had been between her and Jezebel. Back then she’d thought of their light flirting at the event as a kind of secret game between them, a cloaked performance they were putting on for everyone. Of course Tracy remembered the rest of the night too. Hanging with Jez and her crew into the wee hours, partying in her suite until everyone else had gone and it was just the two of them alone for a precious few hours until Tracy was forced to slip out before dawn or risk being caught by Jezebel’s entourage—most of whom Tracy felt certain knew anyway—or, worse, the paparazzi.

  Tracy swallowed hard at the memory and looked up, realizing Marie still expected some kind of explanation.

  “We’re acquaintances,” she offered. “Some of us are friends.” Tracy chewed her bottom lip. “We see each other throughout the year at different charity events we are all involved in.” She continued her half-truth. “So a lot of that back and forth is pretty natural.”

  Marie was still fired up. “Well, you guys were great. That Jezebel Stone had everyone in stitches. She seems like a real good person. I mean, what a trouper she is to lend her support to the gay and lesbian community.” She looked right at Tracy, clearly waiting for her to agree.

  Tracy pursed her lips and managed a smile, unable to speak in support of Jezebel’s concession to comingle with the gay community she was secretly a part of. She hoped her put-on facial expression was enough to satisfy the Realtor’s final comment. Just in case, Tracy offered to take a picture with Marie, knowing that it would placate her and change the conversation.

  As they walked to the car, Tracy caught Betsy studying her.

  “What?” she asked the gorgeous blonde.

  “You up for a walk on the beach?” Betsy asked as she grabbed her keys out of her purse.

  “Definitely.”

  *

  It was about one o’clock in the afternoon by the time they got to Race Point. The sun was high in the sky and there was a lovely cool breeze coming off the water as they made their way down to the shoreline. “So you really made an impression on Marie.” Betsy nudged Tracy with her elbow.

  Tracy looked up from under her furrowed brow. “I don’t think it was me that made the impression.”

  Picking up right away on her sarcasm, Betsy asked, “So what is the deal with you and Jezebel Stone?”

  “Nothing,” Tracy responded sharply. “There’s no deal.”

  Betsy was quiet and they walked in silence with the sound of the ocean next to them. Tracy watched the small waves crashing against the beach, hoping the sting she felt over the memory of her failed relationship didn’t show on her face.

  “Look, you don’t have to tell me about it. I’m not trying to pry into your life,” Betsy said. “I know we don’t know each other that well, but”—she paused briefly, turning to make real eye contact, and the corner of her mouth rose slightly—“I did play high-stakes shuffleboard with you against some serious competition and I saw you right after you nearly cut your hand off.” She raised her eyebrows knowingly. “In neither of those two completely different, but equally intense situations did I see you get even remotely flustered.” She bent down to pick up a shell on the sand. “Last night in the car”—Betsy turned the shell over in her hand, seemingly examining its pretty purple hues—“you got fidgety every time one of her songs came on the radio. And just now”—she put her hand on Tracy’s forearm, stopping her—“maybe Marie couldn’t tell, but I know you and Jezebel Stone are not friends. That came through loud and clear.” She started walking again. “So you can talk about it or not, but by the way you clenched your jaw during Marie’s interrogation, it looks like you’ve got something in there that wants to come out.”

  Tracy reached for a rock in the sand and whipped it across the surf. She kept pace with Betsy, skipping two more stones before she spoke.

  “She’s my ex-girlfriend.”

  Betsy nodded. “Didn’t end well, I guess?”

  “You could say that.”

  Betsy asked for the particulars, and Tracy gave them to her in exacting detail. After she had finished, she assessed Betsy’s casual demeanor. “You’re not surprised?”

  “About what?”

  “I don’t know, Jezebel Stone being gay.” She picked up a lovely shell, handing it to Betsy. “That I was dating one of the most famous people in the world. Any of it?”

  “I’m never surprised to find out celebrities are gay. They are just people, after all.” Betsy shrugged. “I am curious about how you two got together, though.” She eyed the shell Tracy handed her, dusting off a few grains of sand before putting it in her pocket with the others she had collected on the walk. “Did you meet her after a show or something?”

  Tracy shook her head. “Nah, nothing like that.” She played with a fraying edge of her bandage. “She’s very involved with Every Youth Counts, which is a charity I do a lot of work for too.”

  “Right, you mentioned that.”

  “I kept running into her at different events.” Tracy tipped her head down toward the ground. “You know, a lot of the Richie Rich types attach their names to a charity for, like, good publicity or a tax write-off. Jez was different.” She looked up at the clouds in the sky. “She really believed in the program. She would go to the workshops and work one-on-one with the kids.” Tracy smiled. “God, the kids would go crazy for her. And she loved it. Loved that it meant something to them.” Did that cloud look like a butterfly? Weird. “Anyway, I met her at the annual fund-raiser they do in New York. After that I saw her at a bunch of the small events. Mostly in Los Angeles, but one in Dallas, of all places.” She raised her eyebrows. “We started talking. She was very unassuming. Very sweet.” Tracy shrugged. “The rest is history. Secret history, of course.”

  Betsy turned to Tracy. “So, wait. I’m confused. What do you do at the charity?” She crinkled her brow. “You’re into music too?”

  Tracy let out a small laugh. “No. Not at all.” She licked her lips. “Every Youth Counts is a program aimed toward at-risk kids. The foundation focuses on arts and sports, the theory being between those two fields there is something everyone can be good at, find joy in. This gives kids who might not otherwise have the chance the opportunity to learn, have fun, express themselves, exercise, draw, write, dance, run, jump, play.”

  “Sounds awesome.” Betsy smiled, picking up on the obvious enthusiasm in Tracy’s voice.

  “It is.” Tracy looked out at the water. “Being part of it is far and away the most rewarding thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

  “Do you teach the kids to play golf?”

  “If they want,” she answered, looking out of the corner of her eye. “Mostly they’re not interested in that. They want to play basketball, soccer, baseball.”

  “And you do that with them?”

  “Sure.” Tracy smiled. “I’ll play anything.” She looked at her bandaged left hand.

  “What are your doctors saying about your hand?” Betsy nodded at it with her chin. “Will you be able to play golf again?”

  Tracy nodded. “They’re optimistic.” She bit the inside of her mouth. “With therapy, should be good as new.” She paused, looking away. “I’m not sure I want to.”

  “Why not?” Betsy asked, concern, bu
t not judgment in her voice.

  There was a long second before Tracy answered. “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “It’s getting old. I want a real life. One that’s not in a different city every ten days.” She stuffed her other hand in her pocket. “Also, truthfully, I’m not that good.”

  “You’re on the women’s pro circuit. You are good, Tracy.”

  Tracy met Betsy’s eyes and said in a sardonic tone, “Betsy, I’m ranked one hundred and thirty-fourth out of one hundred and thirty-seven players.” She smirked. “Not much to brag about there.”

  “Nonsense.” Betsy waved her off. “You’ve had a rough couple of years.” She bumped Tracy’s shoulder with her own. “Right out of college you were called the sleeper to look out for, or something like that.” She met Tracy’s eyes. “Wait.” She put a finger up and closed her eyes trying to remember the exact wording. “They also said you had a nearly flawless…power swing, I think was the term.” She opened her eyes and Tracy was smiling. “I did some research. Marie is not the only one who is impressed.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

  “You’re sweet.”

  “Don’t give up on yourself just because Jezebel Stone doesn’t know a good thing when she sees it.”

  Tracy thought Betsy had intended the comment to be light and encouraging, but she heard something else too, embedded in her statement. Tracy looked right at her trying to discern Betsy’s intent. She stopped in her tracks.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why don’t you live at Bay West?”

  Betsy let out a laugh. “I live with my mom.” She brushed away a strand of hair the wind had blown into her eyes. “I’m only two miles from the development,” she added with a shrug.

  Tracy shook her head. “I don’t think I could take being that close and not living there. The place is amazing.”

  “I know what you mean,” Betsy answered with a knowing smile. “But this works for me right now. I went away for college and med school, and then I was stationed overseas. There was never any need to get my own place.” She shrugged. “Then a few years ago my dad passed away. I didn’t want my mom to be alone. Plus, the price is right,” she joked, making a zero with her left hand. “It’s how I was able to afford this place out here,” she said referring to her house a few miles away. “But I’m thinking in a few years, I will probably make the move. Buy something at Bay West. Bring my mom along with me.”