The Player's Club: Scott

by Cathy Yardley

  “Well, if you put your mind to it, I’m sure you’ll get it,” Ethan said fondly. “Whatever else, Mandy, you’re the most determined woman I know. I hope you get that adventure.”

  “Goodbye, and good luck,” she said, giving him a hug tinged with mourning. Not for the relationship—she’d grieved herself out on that years ago—but for the finality. And for his comments.

  What was she going to do with herself?

  She smiled, a little crookedly. Then she hugged him goodbye and walked out the door, feeling oddly empty and colder than the sunny morning warranted.

  “I’m late, aren’t I?”

  Amanda turned to find her best friend, Jackie, business-jogging up to her, her hair in disarray, her purse hanging haphazardly from her shoulder. Amanda smiled weakly. “I gave up the keys to CandyLove,” she said.

  Jackie enveloped her in a huge hug. “Come on. Let’s get drunk.”

  “It’s eight in the morning,” Amanda pointed out.

  “Bloody Mary breakfast, then,” Jackie said, tugging her along. “And don’t tell me no.”

  “Like I could,” Amanda muttered, feeling a bit better already. They headed for North Beach, hitting Caffè DeLucchi. Amanda had the smoked salmon Benedict and the requisite Bloody Mary, while Jackie ordered her usual, chocolate-chip pancakes with fresh vanilla whipped cream.

  “You eat like a kid,” Amanda said.

  “This from a woman who used to own a candy store. Besides, you live like an old lady,” Jackie said, sticking out her tongue. “Food choices are emblematic of lifestyle. You envy my pancakes. Admit it. You crave my pancakes.”

  It was close enough to Ethan’s observation—you only have two speeds—that she winced.

  “You know,” Amanda said, “I do sort of envy your pancakes.”

  Jackie noticed the change in tone and focused in. “What’s wrong, chica?” Her expression turned murderous. “It’s not that tool ex-husband of yours, is it?”

  “Ethan is not a tool,” Amanda defended quickly.

  Jackie rolled her eyes. “You are the only woman I know who is still friends with the husband who cheated on her.”

  “He didn’t cheat on me. He just fell in love with Jillian, and we split up so he wouldn’t cheat.” Before she could acknowledge Jackie’s stare of disbelief, she shook her head. “And if I’d really loved him, I would have cared. That was the worst part, you know. Here is this guy, telling me ‘I think I’m in love with somebody else, maybe we shouldn’t be married,’ and my first thought is ‘thank God.’ He dumped me, so I didn’t have to be the bad guy. I’d dodged a bullet.”

  Jackie nodded, taking a sip of her drink. “I’ve suspected that. You were sad, but you were also sort of relieved. You just never said so before.”

  “I think I didn’t want to admit it,” Amanda said. “Now I think I’m ready to move forward.”

  “It will get better. We’ll go out, party. Have some real fun. If I have my way, you’re never again going to go to sleep at ten o’clock after watching TV for six straight hours.”

  “I’m not sleeping well lately,” Amanda stated. Apparently her “rep” as a boring hibernator was well documented. She grinned, momentarily distracted as she remembered last night with Scott. “Of course, that’s not all my fault.”

  “Nightmares?” Jackie said with concern. “Or just can’t get your head to shut up? I hate it when that happens.”

  “Better.” Amanda claimed her celery from her Bloody Mary, took a fortifying sip. “I spent some time with a strange man.”

  Jackie’s eyes widened dramatically. “Oh, my God. Did you get lucky?”

  “Huh? Oh, no. Not like that.” Amanda quickly told the story of her visitor.

  “I figured you’ve got a secured building, but you probably shouldn’t leave that window open,” Jackie admitted, then laughed as the story progressed. “He sounds hot, though. You should have jumped him.”

  “Yeah, right,” Amanda snorted, finishing her Bloody Mary. “Anyway, I was thinking of taking a vacation or something, but nothing sounds quite right. I want an adventure, you know? Ethan was right. I either work, or I veg out. I need to shake things up.”

  “I think that Mr. Window Guy sounds like he could shake things up,” Jackie countered. “Like maybe your love life, or at least your mattress. You should totally sleep with him.”

  “What color is the sky on your planet?” Amanda asked. “Do you really just walk up to people and say, ‘Hi, I think we should sleep together,’ and then they just…do?”

  Jackie looked askance, counting off on her fingertips. “It works five times out of seven.”

  “I’ve seen your data pool. No offense, but I wouldn’t want to sleep with seven out of seven of those guys.”

  “That’s because you think you have to keep them,” Jackie said with a wicked grin. “For the short term, the results can be phenomenal. Even if they’re not, it’s fun. Live a little. When was the last time you had recreational sex?”

  Amanda glanced around the café, her cheeks heating with a blush. “Um, never?”

  “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” Jackie said sagely. “You know, I think it’s exactly what you need.”

  “What is?”

  “A fling.” Jackie’s smile was Cheshire-cat wide. “Man, I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. You need to have cage-rattling, bone-crunching, monkey-jungle sex.”

  “And another Bloody Mary,” Amanda said to the waiter who was now staring at the two of them, wide-eyed. “Jeez, Jackie, what happened to your internal censor? Besides, I’ve had short-term relationships…”

  “This isn’t a relationship in any way, shape or form. You shouldn’t even know the guy’s last name. You just need to know that he revs your engine.”

  Amanda thought of Scott, wearing only those sweats, his hair tousled. Her heart was already beating fast at the thought of an intruder, but knowing it was her neighbor hadn’t slowed it down one bit.

  Oh, yeah. He revved her engine—and had since the first moment she’d seen him in the hallway, about a year before.

  Jackie caught the look on her face. “Soo…maybe you should invite Window Boy up for some more hot cocoa. And other tasty treats.”

  “You’re demented,” Amanda demurred, taking a fortifying gulp of her refilled Bloody Mary. “I tried flirting with him, and he didn’t respond at all.”

  “Maybe if you were Amish, that would count as flirting,” Jackie scoffed. “Be clear. Ask the guy up, then ask him to get naked and see where it goes.”

  “And if he said no, I’d have to bump into him at the mailboxes, or in the elevator,” Amanda said, even as part of her felt intrigued by the idea. “It’d be awkward. It’d be awful.”

  “You’re a wuss,” Jackie said, but dropped it. “So, what are you going to do instead? No vacations, but you want an adventure. What are you going to do? Bungee jump or something?”

  At the thought of heights, Amanda shivered. “Not even remotely.”

  But the idea of an adventure—a real adventure—had her brain buzzing.

  Maybe that’s what I need.

  “You could go to…oh, wait, you hate flying,” Jackie said. “How about one of those Outward Bound things?”

  Amanda hooted. “Do you even know me?”

  “Girl, you are hopeless.” Jackie shook her head. “You say you want an adventure. You say you want to be different. But in six months, I’m going to find you with a business plan in hand and you’re going to be neck-deep in eighty-hour weeks, and we’ll be back to monthly brunches.”

  Amanda swirled her drink around in its heavy glass. Jackie was right. Ethan had been right. It all depressed her even more. She’d gotten on this treadmill and it made her miserable, but she seemed drawn to it like a magnet.

  No. She wasn’t going to keep doing it. She was going to do something different…even if it was uncomfortable. Even if it were hellish.

  She wanted to be an adventurer. No. She needed it. />
  “All right,” she mused. “I’ll ask Scott to dinner.”

  “Good.” Jackie smirked. “Of course, I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  “You’ll see it.” Amanda finished her second drink more quickly than her first. Then she stared down at her plate. She motioned to the waiter.

  “Yes, miss?” he said, shooting a nervous glance over at Jackie.

  “Give me the damned pancakes, would you?”

  “Goody! You are serious!” Jackie burst out laughing. “Now, this is going to be interesting.”

  IT’S A GOOD THING YOU’RE having trouble sleeping anyway, Scott told himself as he scanned the street. Because this is getting ridiculous.

  It was three o’clock in the morning, again. A few days had passed since he’d seen the random collection of men disappearing into the alleyway across the street. He hadn’t gone out on the fire escape again, but he had found himself looking out the window whenever he was awake that late at night, especially when he just would’ve been watching whatever movie was on cable at that early hour.

  Too bad you can’t be having hot cocoa with your cute neighbor.

  He smiled as he thought of Amanda—her makeup-free face, the billowing T-shirt. The shapely legs beneath it…

  She was the polar opposite of his last girlfriend, Kayla, he thought as he continued to search the street for signs of the suspicious. Kayla was sophisticated, a sexual siren.

  People often wondered how he could have landed a girlfriend like Kayla. Hell, he’d often wondered himself. Kayla’s life was filled with drama—drama that he had usually bailed her out of, as he recalled. She hadn’t complained about him being “too nice” then.

  Not that he was bitter or anything.

  Anyway, those days were behind him, he thought, taking a sip of his beer. He wasn’t going to get involved with a woman until he was damned good and ready. In the meantime, he had this little mystery to unravel. It might be boring to someone like Kayla, but he knew that a puzzle like this would pester him until he solved it. And he was determined to do it.

  Amanda didn’t think it was boring. She seemed to find it amusing, maybe even interesting. He glanced up, wondering if her light was on. If she was even awake. She said she’d just sold her business. Maybe she had trouble sleeping, too?

  He could always go out on her fire escape again…

  Focus, you idiot.

  He glanced down at the street, then abruptly held his breath.

  They were back. He recognized the look of the men who were slowly heading for the alley, making their way to the Chinese supermarket one at a time, or sometimes two or three together as the hour grew later.

  He didn’t think about it. He threw on a dark sweatshirt and headed downstairs, his heart pounding with adrenaline. He didn’t know what was going on but, by God, he was going to find out.

  He opened the front door to the apartment building carefully, glancing around as he quickly dove into the shadows. He didn’t want anyone to notice. He saw a man in a dark suit, his tie loosened around his throat and his top button undone, also looking around furtively. The man then turned into the alleyway.

  Scott looked up and down the street. The coast was clear. He crossed the street, heading for the alleyway himself. It was dark, and smelled like garbage and Chinese medicinal herbs. Down toward the back of the building, he noticed light flooding out as a door opened. He headed for it, his eyes getting used to his surroundings. When he got to the door, he hung out, hiding behind a Dumpster.

  A few minutes later, a few other men showed up. “You know how Lincoln hates it when we’re late,” one of the men muttered.

  “Somehow, he’ll live,” another man said with a low chuckle. “Besides, I wouldn’t be me if I showed up on time.”

  “Three o’damned clock in the morning,” the third man grumbled. “Finn, can’t you get George to change the meeting to some reasonable hour?”

  “What, you getting old, Tucker?” the second man responded. Then he knocked on the door. It swung open.

  “Password?” the doorman prompted.

  “Luck of the Irish,” the first guy, Finn, said. “Come on, we’re already late.”

  “And whose fault is that, Finn?” the doorman answered. “They’ve started. Go on ahead.”

  The door shut, leaving Scott alone in the darkness. It was a meeting of some sort…run by somebody named Lincoln, or maybe George.

  They had a password.

  It was too cloak-and-dagger for words.

  It’s probably nothing, Scott tried to tell himself, as his heart rate started to speed up in excitement. For all I know, it’s some kind of twelve-step program.

  But his gut told him otherwise. There was something bizarre going on behind that door.

  He wasn’t quite sure what prompted him. Maybe it was Kayla saying he was boring. Maybe it was because he didn’t have a lot going on in his life. Whatever the reason, he found himself at the door and knocking three times, just as he’d seen the others do.

  The door opened. The doorman was a guy in his early twenties. He eyed Scott with suspicion.

  “Password?”

  “Luck of the Irish,” Scott said, keeping his voice calm.

  The guy looked at him, as if waiting. Then he said, “Come in. The meeting’s already started. Follow me.”

  Scott’s heart was pounding like a racehorse as he followed the guy down the long hallway. There was a door that had to lead to a basement. He heard sounds of a large group of people, and someone trying to call them to order. Scott felt the palpable rush. He was finally going to find out what was going on!

  The guy opened the door, and Scott goggled. The place didn’t look like a basement. The walls were paneled, and the furniture looked opulent yet obviously comfortable. It looked more like an old-fashioned men’s club, the type where old rich guys drank brandy from large snifters and smoked Cuban cigars.

  Many of the men fit that stereotype as well, wearing suits or obviously expensive clothes. On the other hand, there were also men who sported tattoos and looked like skateboarders. There was a group of guys that were bellowing like frat boys, and another group in conversation, laughing and talking.

  What was this, Scott thought as he stared around the room, some kind of underground men’s club? Were they gangsters? A West Coast Skull & Bones society? What, exactly, had he stumbled into?

  It was around then that he realized the room had gone silent—and that all the men, suits or skateboarders alike, were staring at him. Their expressions were definitely unfriendly.

  Uh-oh.

  He felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder. The doorman, flanked by two other guys, grabbed ahold of him and frog-marched him to the front of the room. “Hey!” Scott protested, pulling away, but they only held on tighter and dragged him.

  “What have we here?”

  Scott looked at the man asking the question. He was one of the frat boys—he was wearing a suit, but he had the drunken demeanor and too-loud, boisterous tone of voice that said he was half-bagged. His face was almost as red as his overly gelled red hair. He was peering at Scott with narrowed eyes and a sneering grin.

  “He’s a fake, George,” the doorman said. “He got to the door.”

  “I knew the password,” Scott protested.

  “The password’s a fake, you idiot,” the doorman answered, but another man motioned him to silence.

  This man was tall, with dark hair and a somber expression. He also had an air of quiet authority about him—something badass, although he appeared a refined rich guy. Scott immediately knew that this was the guy in charge. He must be Lincoln.

  “So, what are you? A reporter?” Lincoln asked. His tone seemed mild, but his eyes were definitely gleaming with anger.

  “Huh? No,” Scott said. “I just… I live across the street. I saw a bunch of guys walking into an alley at three o’clock in the morning, and I thought I’d see what was going on.”

  Nobody seemed convinced.

 
; “You can check my wallet,” he said sharply, wresting his arm away from one of the men. “It’s got my driver’s license with my address, and my business card. I’m a sales analyst and researcher for Daventech.” He reached into his pocket, handing the wallet over.

  Lincoln examined the contents of the wallet, then handed it back to him. Now his expression became thoughtful.

  “Off the top, he’s telling the truth,” the Finn guy said, his tone tinged with amusement. “How’d you know we weren’t dangerous?”

  “I didn’t,” Scott admitted, feeling more and more foolish.

  “So why the hell did you come down here and try to fake the password?” the doorman asked.

  Scott shrugged. At this point, with the angry glares of the crowd around him, he had no idea what had possessed him to follow his gut.

  “I just had to find out, that’s all,” he muttered.

  “Looking for an adventure, hmm?” Lincoln asked.

  Scott studied Lincoln, wondering if he was being mocked. “I guess.”

  “That shows some guts. I admire that,” Lincoln said with a slow smile. “So what do you think, guys? It’s been a while since we’ve had a new member. Should we let him in?”

  “Haze him first,” the red-haired guy, George, yelled out, causing a round of raucous laughter from the men around him.

  “That goes without saying,” Lincoln agreed.

  “Wait a minute,” Scott said quickly. “I didn’t say I wanted to join anything. I don’t even know who you guys are!”

  “Can you keep a secret?” Lincoln asked mildly. “Because if we agree to take you on—if we make you a member—then secrecy is one of the prime rules. And it’s one we take very seriously.” He sounded ever so slightly menacing. “Or, if you’d rather, we can escort you outside and you’ll never see us again. No harm, no foul.”

  Scott thought about it. He still wasn’t sure what was going on—but his curiosity still burned through him. He wasn’t sure what he was letting himself in for.

  God hates a coward. It had been one of his grandfather’s favorite sayings. He hadn’t thought about it in years, but it seemed strangely appropriate now.