by Jamie Carie
Maddie grinned, then turned serious. “I’m so glad you came. I would have shown up at the interview in an old navy-blue suit or something outdated.”
“Exactly,” Sasha agreed, pulling out the pants and holding them up to Maddie’s waist. “Just wait until we get to the jewelry. You’re going to look so great they won’t even care if you can type.”
Maddie laughed. “Oh, I can type. I just don’t know if I’ll be able to do the rest.”
“Just be confident, really…really…confident. And be yourself. Everyone who meets you loves you.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Anyway, you have a champion, right? What position does Jordan Tyler have in the company? He sounds important enough to push it through.”
“His business card says he’s the Vice President of Racers, Sports & Entertainment. He was probably afraid I would sue them.”
Sasha stopped mid-rummage in a rack. “Hey, you could sue them, you know?”
“Probably, but I wasn’t really hurt, so there’s no point. I would much rather have the job.”
After a couple of hours of trying on clothes and a hefty charge bill, the women left the store for lunch.
Maddie eased her older Nissan into the turning lane for I-69 and a new restaurant on the busy 96th Street. She thought of Max and wondered what he would be eating for lunch. Another bologna sandwich? Her mother seemed to have forgotten how to cook since Maddie and Michelle, her younger sister, had moved out. Every week since she’d been back at home lunch and dinner had revolved around a diet of bologna sandwiches, tacos from the store-bought kits, spaghetti and meatballs and chili. She’d offered to cook, but her mother never seemed to remember to get any of the ingredients she wanted. So mostly she and Max just ate whatever was there.
All she could think of now was a big, fat cheeseburger. Maybe she’d bring one home for Max. The pang in her heart reminded her of just how much she was going to miss him when she went back to work. She couldn’t even be gone on a three-hour shopping trip without the image of his chubby-cheeked face popping into her mind. He was two, plenty old enough to be in daycare. But it didn’t seem fair. She’d wanted to stay home with him until kindergarten, maybe even have another child before then. They had just started talking about another baby when Brandon had the accident. Now she might never have another one.
The sad, depressed feeling started to come upon her, so she quickly turned to Sasha and said, “I’m tired of thinking about my problems. Let’s talk about yours.” She grinned. “How are things with Rob?”
Sasha gave her that look that said “don’t get me started” while digging into her purse for the pale lip-gloss she couldn’t go an hour without. “Driving me crazy, as usual. Just when I think his parents are lightening up about us, and he’ll finally get himself down on one knee and give me a big, fat diamond, some family emergency occurs and he has to fly back to Philadelphia. He says he loves me, but sometimes I wonder if he knows how to think on his own. He agrees with me when we’re together and then turns around and agrees with them when he goes home. I just wish he would decide what he wants and then stick with it.”
“I don’t get it,” Maddie put in. “Is it you they don’t like, or the whole idea of any girl with him?”
“Both. I can’t imagine that there will ever be a woman Rob’s mother will think is good enough for her son, particularly not an Asian one.”
“It’s so unfair. She doesn’t even know you.” Maddie sighed, merging into the far left lane of traffic, then, seeing a Hummer boring down on her from behind, she stepped on the gas. She hadn’t gone more than a mile, flying down the road, trying to stay well in front of the Hummer until she could get back over into the center lane when they saw it—police lights.
“Oh, no,” they both muttered at the same time.
“Why is he pulling me over? That Hummer was going just as fast and obviously tailgating!”
The Hummer sped by unimpeded as Maddie signaled and pulled off onto the shoulder, the police car right behind her.
“It’s called small car discrimination,” Sasha remarked. “Someone important might be in that Hummer.” Sasha adjusted the vanity mirror, trying to see. “Is he cute, at least?”
“No! Oh, this is just what I need, after spending nearly five hundred dollars on clothes today. A speeding ticket costs about two hundred dollars, doesn’t it?”
“Depends. How fast were you going?”
Maddie didn’t have time to answer as the tall, lean policeman stepped to the side of the car, leaned down and rapped on the window. “License and registration, ma’am.” He looked to be in his late forties, all business with that military crew cut and motorcycle sunglasses. Never a good sign.
“Hi there, occifer, I mean officer.” Maddie smiled and tried to be friendly.
“Have you been drinking, ma’am?”
Maddie’s eyes widened. “Oh no! No, sir. I just said that because that’s the way my son, Max, says ‘officer’ and I’ve gotten so used to repeating it because it’s so cute.” She grimaced and handed him her license. “Sorry.”
The cop looked at her sideways as if he had some special method of judging whether or not she was telling the truth, some magic power behind the mirrored shades.
Almost unconsciously, Maddie corrected her posture, letting the D cups do what good they could.
Sure enough, his head shifted, then quickly snapped back to her face, wary of traps.
“Do you know how fast you were going?”
“Uh, not really. The Hummer was bearing down on me pretty hard and I couldn’t get immediately back into the center lane, so I just sped up a little. Was it very fast?”
“Fifteen miles over the speed limit. I’m going to have to write you a ticket.”
Maddie groaned internally. She really didn’t have money for this right now, and who knew when her first real paycheck would come.
She was just about to switch tactics to begging when a movement in her rear view mirror caught her eye.
The police car was moving. It was moving right for them.
“Uh, sir? Is that your car moving?” Maddie turned around just as the cop spun on his shiny police boots toward his vehicle. The car was picking up speed and amazingly, it turned and headed out into open traffic, just missing Maddie’s rear right fender.
Sasha started to sputter, squashing laughter.
The cop’s eyes bulged and then he took off, running after his car. Vehicles came to a screeching halt as the highway traffic stopped for the runaway vehicle. Maddie joined Sasha, leaning over her steering wheel with choked hysterics as they watched the brown-uniformed sheriff chase after his car. He caught up with it, running straight up the highway, his carriage erect, arms pumping close at his sides. Then, leaning to grasp the door handle, he pulled the door open and dove in. He pumped the brakes, hit the police lights and started the vehicle. Before they knew it, he had sped up and disappeared over a rise in the highway.
“Should we wait? Will he come back?” Maddie asked the shocked face of her friend.
“Are you kidding? Let’s get out of here. He would be too embarrassed to chase us down.”
“Right. Right. But he has my tags. He knows who I am.”
“Just go. We’ll say we waited a little while if he tracks us down. Go, girl.”
Maddie inched the car into the slow-moving traffic, got into the far right lane and made for the next exit. As soon as they turned off onto 96th Street they started laughing and laughing, Sasha whooping, her arm upraised outside the window.
A cheeseburger from just about anywhere would do fine after that adventure.
CHAPTER FOUR
The steps to the Bankers Life Fieldhouse were wide marble, the walled entrance long panels of tinted glass. Maddie took a deep breath, tottering a little in the new peep-toed, leopard pumps that Sasha had insisted were “just the thing” with the black suit. Her hair was done up in an elegant chignon. Her nails were a classic French manicure, her toenail
s a dark merlot and, to top it all off, she was wearing perfume. She hadn’t looked this good or put such time into her appearance since her wedding day. Her only fear was that she’d overdone it. What if they were all in business casual? Would she look like she was trying too hard? A wannabe New Yorker? It was Indianapolis, after all.
And she would be working with charities. The real reason she was there slammed into her as she reached for the glass door. How was she going to look meeting with charities in this? Like a throw back from Knots Landing, that’s what. Dear Lord, why did you let me listen to Sasha? She works at a Bloomingdales, for goodness’ sake. She doesn’t know what normal is.
Her heels clicked over the smooth, glossy floor as she forced herself to the elevators. There was no time to turn back now. Jordan Tyler was expecting her at 9am sharp. Just concentrate on what’s important. The job. Helping the needy.
Sounding halfway intelligent.
She was supposed to go to the Founders Level. Her heart thumped in her chest when the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Thankfully it was empty. She stepped inside and pushed the number four. It was four, wasn’t it? Hadn’t Jordan said the fourth floor? Stop it. Of course it was. She clasped her sweaty palms together in front of her and took a long, deep breath.
The doors opened and she walked up to an imposing reception desk, but no one was there. Glancing at her watch, she saw that it was five minutes until nine. She didn’t have any time for things to go wrong. Clearing her throat, she leaned over to glance around the desk, hoping to see the receptionist’s name, some clue that a real person was coming back, but there was nothing.
Turning, she walked around the reception area, looking at the photos on the wall—all of them of basketball players in various attempts at making a basket or keeping someone else from making a basket, faces grimacing in concentration. She glanced back at her watch—9:00. Where was that receptionist?
When nothing happened after five more minutes, Maddie decided to walk a little way down the hall to see if she could find Mr. Tyler’s office herself. It just wouldn’t do to be late.
The hall was filled with doors, most of them closed, but there was an open office with a woman inside—a beautiful, more-dressed-up-than-she-was woman. She was standing in front of the desk, bent over and writing with long, slanting handwriting on a piece of stationery. She wore a tight skirt that showed off long legs, a clingy knit blouse with a keyhole neckline and several long, beaded necklaces. She stood and turned as Maddie paused in the open doorway, her long blond hair swinging over one shoulder, her eye makeup giving her a feline stare. “Yes? Can I help you?” Her gaze sized Maddie up from head to toe in a nanosecond.
Maddie cleared her throat. “I’m looking for Jordan Tyler. Do you know where I might find his office?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have an appointment with him?”
Maddie nodded. “An interview, at nine.”
Her full lips smiled. Her eyes did not. “You’re late.”
“Yes, well, there hasn’t been anyone at the receptionist’s desk. I’ve been trying to find his office for some time now.”
The woman tilted her head and smirked. “Wait, I know who you are. You’re the woman Frank McKlesky accosted, aren’t you? Jordan described you like a damsel in distress and now I can see why.” Her top lip curled. “Follow me.”
Maddie breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, she would have this interview.
The woman led her back to the lobby, looking even better under the bright, harsh lights in the entry and pushed the down button.
“But Mr. Tyler said to meet him here. On the Founders Level.”
“Jordan is a little tied up right now. You’ll be meeting with someone else.”
That didn’t sound good. It didn’t sound right, and Maddie was feeling more and more like this woman just wanted to get rid of her.
“Who are you?” She plucked up the courage to ask.
The woman gave Maddie a nudge into the elevator. “Someone to be wary of, believe me. If you want to advance from the laundry department, you should make friends with me.”
Was she crazy? “Laundry department? Oh, no, there’s been some mistake. I’m interviewing for a coordinator’s position for the Racers Foundation.”
“Ah, poor dear. Didn’t Jordan tell you? No one starts there. Everyone works at least a few weeks at the bottom of the food chain. Then you can move up.” Her lips curved into a smile, but her blue eyes shot scorn. The elevator stopped and dinged. The woman stepped out and clasped Maddie’s wrist, pulling her along, down another hall toward the locker rooms.
She stopped at a room with a sign on the door saying “Laundry,” opened it and gave Maddie a little nudge. “There should be a uniform in there somewhere, dear. You really shouldn’t dress up so much for a job like this, you know.”
Maddie opened her mouth to protest. This couldn’t be right, but the woman interrupted her.
“Remember now, we’re friends.” She pointed to herself. “Lillian Tyler, Jordan’s wife.” She smiled again, turned with a click of her heels, and was gone.
His wife? She didn’t even work here, did she? Maddie stood blinking at the huge bins of white laundry, trying to put it together. This couldn’t be right. Mr. Tyler had been so kind, so promising. He couldn’t have planned for her to work in the laundry. But what if he had? What if her mother had been right and it was all too good to be true?
How was she going to tell her mother? Maddie looked toward the white squares of the ceiling for the answer.
Shaking her head, she decided to wait in the room for a few minutes for his wife to hopefully leave and then go back upstairs and track down Jordan Tyler. Even if she did belong in the laundry, someone had to train her, someone had to have her employment information, her social security number and…well…information. She wouldn’t leave today without talking to him.
Gosh, it was hot and humid in here. Maddie could feel the sweat start to trickle down her back and around her hairline. Great, when she finally did locate Jordan, she was going to look like she’d been sitting in a sauna. Just wonderful.
Maddie walked over to one of the huge laundry bins, a big canvas bag on wheels, and unbuttoned her suit jacket. The camisole underneath wasn’t something she would normally wear alone in public but she had to buy a little time in here and wasn’t about to let her suit jacket have armpit rings when she finally got her interview. She laid the jacket across some clean towels.
Wow, what a lot of laundry. Standing beside one of the bins, she reached in, her brow wrinkled in curiosity, unable to identify the item. Grasping the side of white cotton, she pulled out an enormous pair of men’s briefs. She stifled a giggle. Goodness, they were huge.
Maddie couldn’t help but laugh as she held them out in front of her, seeing the familiar words on the waistband. Brandon had worn a 32, but these…she was just peeking inside the waistband to see the size when a loud commotion came from down the hall, coming right toward her. Before she had time to move a muscle, three giant men walked by, saw her, stopped and backed up.
Maddie stepped behind the bin, the underwear clutched to her chest.
“Whatta we have here?” one of the men asked, grinning with big, white teeth and friendly eyes.
Three men in Racers warm-up suits filled the doorway.
“Looks like one pretty lady to me,” said the other black man. He looked her up and down, but somehow it didn’t feel bad…it felt like he had just paid her a compliment. “And holding somebody’s shorts.” He cocked his head and looked at the third man. “Those yours, Jake?”
Any response Jake might have had was ignored in the ensuing laughter.
“You’re not a stalker, are you?” the first guy asked with that dazzling smile, his chin jutting out as he spoke. “Yeah, we know your game.”
“She can be my stalker,” said the second man, who Maddie was starting to remember was Tyson Jackson, number 42. She had memorized most of the players just in case she n
eeded to appear a fan for the interview.
The three walked further into the room, making it feel tiny. One of the players gently tugged the underwear out of her hands and stared at them. “I think these are yours, Jake.” He teased the third man, who had black hair, smoky green-hazel eyes, and a very attractive five o’clock shadow.
Jake turned a little red as he stared at Maddie. He seemed to be waiting for her to explain, but she couldn’t seem to push enough air out of her lungs for speech. After a couple of tries, she finally managed, “I, ah. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” she decided, grabbing her suit jacket and rushing her arms through the sleeves.
One of the men politely helped her into it, making her feel like a little doll he was dressing. They were so huge!
“Sure we would. Don’t go rushing off. What’s your name?”
“Maddie. Madeline Goode,” she stated with as much authority as she could muster, straightening her jacket, the cami and her skirt with little tugs and twitches. “And I need to get back to the Founders Level. I have an appointment.”
The man she recognized as Tyson laughed. “Maddie Goode. She sure do look good.” He grinned at his teammates, then turned his attention back to Maddie. “What are you doing down here, baby? And clutchin’ Jake’s underwear. You a fan?”
Maddie shook her head. “I don’t even like sports. Basketball especially. Now please, gentlemen, let me by.”
The men moved out of the way, but Jake stopped her by touching her shoulder as she passed him. “Do you need some help? Did something happen up there?”
She started to say no, but then the image of her walking back into those offices with actual players beside her changed her mind. She needed this job, and not the laundry job. She might have a fight on her hands and it couldn’t hurt to have a wall of Racers at her back. “Well, actually, I might need a little help.”
She explained what had happened, leaving out some of the details, telling about the arm wrenching by Mr. McKlesky, but leaving out the embarrassing dance number. She also took the high road and did not mention how rude and strange the woman, Jordan’s wife, had been, saying that it must have been a misunderstanding.
