Screwball

by Linda Morris

  Languor poured through her as he gently brought her down from the peak, kissing her and stroking the soft skin of her hip.

  In her pleasure-stunned brain, an impulse to reciprocate stirred. Not out of obligation, but because she wanted to give him the same pleasure he’d given her. She pushed his shoulders back, wriggling down against the door, when a cold voice in the hall made her go still.

  “I assume this isn’t a good time.”

  “Holy shit,” she muttered. Who was that? Surely it wasn’t … How loud had she moaned, anyway?

  Paul sighed. “That’s right, Dad, which I think you’re well aware of. If you need to talk to me, I think it can wait.” Paul stood, his face stiff with frustration.

  “I shouldn’t have to wait to talk to my son while he commits a public indiscretion with some floozy.”

  Willow gasped, rising to her feet, pulling her shorts and underwear back on with ungainly haste. She was just in time, because Paul wrenched the door open, his lips a tight white line as he stepped out to confront Walter Dudley.

  “If you weren’t my father, I’d knock you on your ass for that.”

  Walter’s chin jerked, fairly quivering with disdain. “I didn’t raise you to carry on like that in public.” He cast a glance down his nose. “And certainly not with some nosy reporter.” The emphasis he put on the last word made Willow want to roll herself into a ball and hide, but it didn’t faze Paul.

  “Who I sleep with is not your business, old man. You can throw your weight around the Thrashers organization all you want. You still own the team. But you stay the hell out of my love life, and you treat this woman with respect, you hear?” He jabbed a finger into his dad’s chest, and Walter’s smug bravado seemed to wither slightly.

  Still, he didn’t back down easily. He rolled his eyes. “Fine. Do what you want. I suppose you’re a grown man. Your mother would be rolling over in her grave, but I don’t think you really care about that. Do what you want, as long as you do your job.”

  “My job has nothing to do with why you’re pissed, and I’m sorry, but that doesn’t cut it. You owe Willow an apology.”

  Walter’s face went red and then white. He stared at Willow, letting his eyes run down her rumpled shirt and linger on her shorts, which were still twisted from where she’d jerked them up.

  Heat rose in her cheeks, but she didn’t let herself look away. She’d been caught in an embarrassing situation, true, but the way he was acting was purely hateful.

  “Carrying on like a tramp at a party at someone else’s house. I won’t apologize to her.”

  Paul’s grabbed Walter’s collar, making the old man’s eyes go wide. “I said, apologize.”

  “I’m sorry.” The bitten-out words were accompanied by such a scornful look that Willow could take the apology for nothing but fake. Then again, what did she expect from such a bitter, nasty man? She pitied poor Paul and Sarah, growing up with this man as their only parent.

  “Come on, you can do better than that.” Paul took half a step closer, but Willow stopped him with a hand on his arm.

  “Please don’t. That’s good enough for me.”

  Paul stared at her as if she were crazy. “It’s not good enough for me. That was insincere as hell and you know it.”

  “I do know it. I also know any apology you force out of him will be insincere. What matters is you made him do it.” She curved her lips in a tremulous smile. She’d never had a man stand up for her like that before. When the whole thing with Tony and his fiancée had blown up, he’d stepped aside, glad to let her take the flack from the TV station brass. “Thank you.”

  Paul’s grip relaxed, and after a moment, he released his dad. The older man twitched his formerly immaculate collar back into place, drawing himself up until his chest swelled.

  “I can’t believe you raised your hand to me. I’m your father.”

  Paul rolled his eyes. “Cut the drama, Dad. If I’d raised my hand to you, you’d know it.”

  “You took the side of a woman you barely know against your own blood. I won’t forget that.” Walter scowled, turned and stormed out.

  Paul rolled his eyes and said nothing. The old man’s departure left them standing in a silent hallway, an air of expectation all around them.

  “You went against your father for me. It mattered to you that he disrespected me.” She wasn’t sure who she was telling, Paul or herself. She still couldn’t quite believe what she’d seen. The events of the last half hour, going from searing pleasure to excruciating embarrassment to total anger, had given her whiplash. She was vaguely dizzy but sure of one thing she’d hadn’t known before today: She meant something to Paul.

  “Of course it matters to me. I—” He broke off. “I care about you.”

  The correction made her heart stutter. Funny, but she was sure he’d been about to say something else before he changed his mind. That he loved her, maybe?

  Nah. No way. But still …

  If she’d learned one thing in Plainview, it was this: Paul valued loyalty. At first, she’d thought he couldn’t stand up to his father and was willing to stand by and let him run roughshod over every woman he encountered.

  Now she knew differently. Paul wasn’t the bad guy here. His father was. Yet Paul continued to work for him, and with him. His father’s last words still echoed. That he took my side against his blood. Clearly blood counted for a lot among the Dudley family.

  “I’m really sorry it came to that. My father is … Well, he’s my dad. I’ve come to accept he’s never going to change. Doesn’t mean I like it.”

  “You don’t have to stay around him, you know. Working for him, putting up with this kind of abuse all the time. You’ve chosen a career that puts you in constant conflict with him.”

  He didn’t deny it, which from Paul was as good as an admission. “I didn’t choose this career. It chose me. I’m not walking away from what I was meant to do.” He cupped her chin and tilted it up slightly to meet his gaze. “Don’t worry about me. I can handle my old man.”

  Chapter 6

  “You’re digging into the Dudley family dirty laundry? That’s a thankless job.” Eyes sharp, Sarah sat on one of the benches that ringed the backyard gazebo and took a sip of hard cider. She’d offered Willow one, but she’d declined, wanting to stay sharp for this interview.

  After the scene with Paul’s dad, Willow had tracked Sarah down in the kitchen. She’d found her in a small nook off of the main room, chatting with Tracy. It had taken surprisingly little effort to talk her into an interview. Willow sensed Sarah wanted to talk. For privacy, Sarah had pulled her outside and chased away a couple of kids who’d been playing in the gazebo, with a promise to show them some pitching tips later if they’d make themselves scarce for now. They were playing on the green lawn that swept up to Paul’s patio, running, squealing, and playing hide-and-seek among the overgrown shrubs that dotted the backyard.

  Sarah must have showered and changed in Paul’s house after the run. Her billowy peasant blouse and skinny jeans set off her athlete’s figure, making Willow feel chunky and disheveled by comparison.

  Then again, Paul still obviously found Willow attractive. A wave of heat swept over her and she hoped Sarah didn’t notice the burn on her cheeks. She’d take those sweet memories out later and examine them when she was alone. For now, she had a job to do, and there was nothing sweet about it.

  “Why do you say it’s thankless? Don’t you have any dirty laundry to air?” Sometimes playing dumb was a journalist’s best trick. Let the interview subject educate her. For most people¸ their favorite topic of conversation was themselves.

  Sarah laughed. “You know better than that, surely. The bigger problem is finding where to start. You’ve been around here long enough to figure that out, unless you’re clueless.” She looked at Willow for a long moment. “I don’t think you’re clueless.”

  Okay, so much for playing dumb. “Thanks, I think.” She paused, debating how to proceed. Sarah was guarded.
She had the same sense of family loyalty Paul did. Loyalty had its place, but damn, it was making her job harder. She decided to start with a safe, obvious observation. “I gather your father still tries to run the team, despite being retired.”

  “That’s an understatement. You could say he’s retired in name only, actually.” Her lips flattened in a tight line.

  Hmmm, maybe that observation hadn’t been so safe after all.

  “There’s a power struggle between your father and Paul?”

  “Always has been. Even when our mom was still alive. But it got worse after she died. I was twelve. Paul was sixteen.”

  “I’m sorry. That must have been terrible.”

  “It was.” Sarah took a deep breath. “Besides all of the obvious reasons why it would be devastating, my mother had also been the great champion for my playing baseball. When my father worried about me turning out to be a tomboy, she always pooh-poohed him and encouraged me. When she died, that came to a screeching halt.”

  “How did Paul take it?”

  “He was devastated too, of course. He tried to talk reason with my father—he always has—but Dad wouldn’t listen. As usual. Paul was older than me, though. Sixteen when she died, just a couple of years away from college. So he was able to escape my father much sooner than I was.”

  “Yet you both came back to work for him after college.”

  “It’s our legacy. This team has been in our family for decades.” Sarah winced. “Tom would kill me if he was here and could hear me say that. He heard plenty from me about our family legacy before we got engaged. I think he could happily go the rest of his life without hearing another word about it.” She finished her cider and balanced the empty bottle on the rail. “Besides, I didn’t come back for the team. I came back for my dad too. He’s the only parent I have left.” Mist gathered in Sarah’s eyes, and Willow swallowed hard.

  She wasn’t out to make people cry. She was a sports blogger, not Barbara Walters. Time for a change of topic. “When is the wedding?”

  Sarah’s face cleared. “Six months from now. We’re getting married here in Plainview.” A smile lit her face. “The fact that Tom agreed to that proves it’s true love.”

  “He doesn’t like Plainview? I guess it’s not for everyone, especially if you’re used to living in a big city.”

  “Oh, he’s fine with the town. He hates my dad, though.” Her shoulders slumped on a sigh. “I can’t say I blame him. Even I don’t think he’s lovable most of the time, and he’s my dad. I do love him, but …”

  “He doesn’t make it easy,” Willow guessed.

  “Right.”

  Willow hesitated, not sure how much she wanted to reveal, and then took a breath. “I’m sorry, but I came upstairs earlier, and I couldn’t help overhearing. I heard you and your father arguing. He’s really not going to give you away at your wedding?”

  Sarah swallowed hard, leaning forward to brace her elbows on her knees, staring at the floor. “Perhaps I should have gotten a couple more of these.” She nodded to the empty bottle on the rail beside her. “Yes, it’s true. I’m sorry you had to hear that. Paul has offered to do it instead. Thank God for him. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have any family at my wedding.”

  The other woman’s dilemma hit her with a pang. Sarah had no mother, and her father was refusing to attend her wedding.

  “I’m so sorry about that. My parents have always been there for me. I can’t imagine what it must be like to have such an angry man as your only living parent.”

  Sarah’s mouth turned in a bitter curve. “No, you can’t, can you? Not many people can, except for Paul.”

  Sensing the other woman’s resentment, Willow wanted to make it better somehow, but how could she? She had no idea what it was like to grow up with such a hateful father. True, Willow’s parents had been less than delighted with her when she had announced her pregnancy.

  “How could this happen, Willow? How many times did I talk to you about birth control growing up?” had been her mother’s response that awful day. “I even showed you how to put a condom on using a banana, for Pete’s sake!”

  “I know, Mom.” Face burning, she’d barely been able to meet her mother’s gaze. Admitting she’d screwed up birth control had been almost as embarrassing as being a fourteen-year-old watching her mother put a prophylactic device on a piece of fruit.

  Really, her mother’s tendency to do that kind of thing probably explained why she’d always been closer to her father. No wonder she’d taken an interest in sports. It had been a way to bond with her dad and escape the concentrated insanity that was her mother.

  Nonetheless, both her parents had gotten over their surprise and dismay quickly enough and supported her wholeheartedly, embracing their grandson without a whit of the displeasure they’d felt over the circumstances of his birth.

  That unconditional love was a far cry from the dynamics of the Dudley family.

  “Now you know I don’t get along with my dad,” Sarah said. “Are you going to publish that in your story?”

  Willow thought hard, weighing her words carefully. Her emotions were involved, whether she wanted them to be or not. Where this story would take her, she couldn’t say. She might have to write some hard things about the Dudley family before all was said and done, things none of them would like, but this? This was only a tangent to the story she’d come here to write.

  If it had just been Sarah, she might’ve include it, but she had to be honest, at least to herself. The real reason she wouldn’t include it was Paul. She couldn’t bring him more pain than was necessary. This story didn’t relate directly to the team, or so she told herself. “Your wedding has nothing to do with the story I’m here to write. I won’t include it.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.” The other woman’s face softened in gratitude before she shifted against the rail, bringing one thigh up to balance across the top. She crossed her arms and gave Willow a look that made her feel like a specimen under the microscope. “You’ve asked me plenty of embarrassing questions. No reason I can’t ask some too, right? Tracy tells me you and Paul have some kind of history.” The last word made Sarah’s lips twitch, like she found the whole idea terribly amusing.

  “We met in Florida, where I live,” she said slowly, yellow warning flags flying in her brain. “He was down with the Thrashers for spring training.”

  “Oh, yeah? You were covering spring training?”

  “No, we met in a bar.” Wow, that sounded sordid. “A nightclub, actually.” Like that was better?

  A little line appeared between Sarah’s brows. “Did you spend a lot of time together while he was in town?”

  “No, we just—” She stopped, waving her hand in a gesture even she couldn’t interpret. “We hung out that night,” she finished lamely after a long pause.

  The line between Sarah’s brows got a bit deeper. “Yet he remembered you a year later? A girl he met in a bar and hung out with?”

  Willow swallowed, as tense as a soldier who’d just realized he had stumbled, all unwary, into a minefield. “Yes. It was memorable.”

  “I guess so.”

  Willow hated the speculative look on Sarah’s face, but she could hardly tell her to mind her own business. Not when she’d been asking equally prying questions and planned on asking a lot more.

  If you don’t mind, I have some questions for you about why you left the Thrashers organization.” She reached into her backpack for her audio recorder. “Mind if I tape this?”

  “Not at all.”

  Willow switched the recorder on. Asking questions was much more comfortable for her than answering them. “Can I assume the strained relationship with your father had something to do with your reason for departing?”

  Sarah took a deep breath. “Wow, you don’t mess around, do you? I thought you weren’t going to get into our private family stuff.”

  “I said I wouldn’t bring up your wedding. Your departure from the team is a personnel ma
tter and is directly related to what I want to discuss.”

  “Fine. Well, I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that my father has old-fashioned views about women.”

  Willow nearly choked, remembering how he’d called her a “floozy” upstairs. “Yes, I’ve gathered that.”

  “He didn’t want me playing baseball as a kid, and when I got older, he really didn’t want me working for the team either, even though it’s been in our family for generations. If he’d had his way, I would have married some nice Plainview boy and had him take over a role in the organization.”

  “That’s Victorian.”

  “That’s my dad. Straight outta Dickens, minus the nineteenth-century sideburns.” A little wisp of a smile appeared, but Willow could tell this subject hurt.

  “If that’s the way he felt, how did you end up as VP of public relations?”

  “I owe that to Paul. I can’t say my dad is exactly putty in Paul’s hands, but Paul does have some influence over him. He twisted my dad’s arm until he agreed to give me the job. I wanted to work in operations, making baseball-related decisions, or maybe as a coach, but that was out of the question for my dad. I didn’t care anything about PR, but I stuck it out. I was fooling myself.”

  “Fooling yourself? How?”

  Sarah shook her head, looking out over the sweep of lawn toward the house. Willow followed her gaze to where Walter Dudley still held court on the back patio, surrounded by a cluster of friends. The group roared at something the older man said, and a chubby man in a snug-fitting polo clapped him on the back. No matter how difficult he could be, the man certainly seemed to have his fair share of friends and supporters.

  “I kept thinking if I worked hard enough, succeeded even at a job I didn’t like, I’d prove myself to him. He’d have no choice but to admit I could do the job as well as any man, and then he’d let me move into something more in line with my strengths. It didn’t work out that way. Tom helped me to see that.”