Play Dirty (36 page)
“It all came down to that one play, Coach. One pass. One
choice
that would make me better than the sludge I’d come from. What I did on that play would define my character. My life, actually.”
After a moment, he opened his eyes and laughed at the irony. “Then Whitethorn dropped the pass. He
dropped
it!” He scrubbed his face with his hand as though to rub out the memory of seeing his receiver lying on his back in the end zone, his hands empty as the game clock ticked down to double zeros.
“But it really didn’t matter. I had sold my soul to the devil anyway. After the loss, I figured I might just as well get paid for it. So when Bandy showed up with my cash, I took it.
“Sometimes I think that maybe the shrink at Big Spring was right, that maybe I wanted to get caught. Anyway, after I was busted, people assumed I’d thrown a pass that was impossible to catch. Whitethorn let them think it. And I let them think it. I was guilty of everything else. I had lied, gambled, cheated, broken the law, pissed on the rules and ethics of professional sports.” He smiled wryly. “But I didn’t throw that game.”
Coach dragged his fists across his damp eyes. “I’ve waited a long time to hear you say it.”
“It feels good to say it. Because the worst part of it, the very worst thing of the whole experience, prison, everything, was knowing how badly I had shamed you and Ellie.”
Coach cleared his throat and said gruffly, “We lived through it.”
He said it in an offhand manner, as though this moment didn’t have any significance. It did, though, and it was huge. Griff hadn’t begged his forgiveness, and Coach hadn’t granted it. Not in so many words. But that was the understanding that passed between them without it getting sloppy and sentimental. He was in Coach’s favor once again. He had his pardon. Maybe even—dare he think it?—his love.
“It would mean a lot to Ellie if you came around more often, let her cook you a meal, fuss over you some, sneak you money she thinks I don’t know about.”
Griff smiled. “I will. I promise. If I’m not in jail.”
Coach frowned. “Over what you did to get Laura away from Rodarte?”
“She told you about that?”
“Yeah, and it’s all over the news today. But I don’t think the assault charges will stick. Not when it comes out what a threat Rodarte posed, and she’ll make sure everyone knows.”
Mention of her name brought Laura into the room with them, an intangible but conspicuous presence. Griff looked hard at Coach, who read the unasked questions in his eyes. “She can’t come to see you, Griff.” He spoke in as soft a voice as he could manage. “Press would be on it like flies on dogshit. There’s already been speculation. Raised eyebrows. You know what I’m talking about. Nothing specific, just the suggestion that something between the three of y’all was a little shady.
“Don’t forget, it’s only been days since she held a very public funeral for her husband. Joe Q. Public doesn’t know that Speakman had gone off his rocker, and, for the future of the airline, she’d like to keep it that way. She certainly doesn’t want anybody to know what you were hired to do for them.”
“She told you about that, too?”
“All of it.” Coach shook his head in bewilderment. “Hell of a thing. Never heard of such.”
“It’s in the Bible.”
“Yeah, but Moses also wore a beard to his navel and ate locusts.”
“Abraham.”
“Well, anyway, Laura said you would understand why she can’t come to you now.”
“I do understand.” Then after a beat. “I love her, Coach.”
“I know.” At Griff’s surprised look, the older man nodded. “The other night, when your whole future depended on chasing down Rodarte and Ruiz, you stayed with her. That wasn’t like you, putting somebody else’s welfare ahead of your own. You’ve got to make another sacrifice now, Griff. If you truly care about this lady, you’ve got to give her time. Distance. Absence from you.”
Griff knew that. He understood the necessity. But that didn’t make it any easier to accept. “Is she all right?”
“Doing fine. Her worst problem is Ellie.”
“Ellie?”
“She’s in her mother hen mode. Practically smothering the girl.”
Griff smiled and closed his eyes. “She’s in good hands.”
He must have dozed off again, because when he woke up, Coach was gone. The room was empty. He was alone.
G
RIFF ANSWERED HIS CELL PHONE ON THE SECOND RING.
“Hello?”
“One o’clock today?”
His heart stopped before stuttering into a dangerously rapid beat.
“Can you be there?”
“Uh, yeah. Yes. Yes.”
“I’ll see you then.”
He held the phone to his ear for another thirty seconds before snapping it closed. Then he stood there in the shopping mall, letting other shoppers eddy around him while he reassured himself that he was awake, that he wasn’t dreaming, that it had actually been Laura calling.
As with the first time, he arrived at the house easily twenty minutes early. He drove around the neighborhood till twelve fifty-eight. When he got back, her car was in the driveway. He parked behind it. It seemed a long walk to the front door. He was reaching for the bell when the door opened and she was standing there.
“I heard your car.”
For a long time, he didn’t speak, just stood there, taking in the sight of her. Finally his joy pushed its way out of his tight chest in the form of a light laugh. “You look terrific.”
“Thank you.”
“No, I mean it.” She was wearing a pink, body-hugging sweater and a pair of black slacks. Simple, elegant, sexy as hell. “Really terrific.”
She blushed at the compliment and stepped aside, motioning him in. He walked into the living area that was so familiar, yet completely altered since the last time he’d been here. The house had been transformed into an inviting home.
The armoire he recognized, but the sofa was new. There were additional pieces of furniture, artwork on the walls, magazines and books and an area rug, a bowl of white tulips on the coffee table. For the first time, the shutters were opened, letting in sunlight. It wasn’t that cold out, so the low fire in the fireplace was more for ambience than for heat.
He turned to Laura, knowing what she was going to say before she said it. “I live here now.”
“I read that you’d sold the mansion. Do you like it here?”
“I love it.”
They exchanged a long stare, finally broken when she motioned him toward the sofa. “Would you like some tea?”
“Sure.”
“Hot or cold?”
“Cold, please.”
He sat down, and she disappeared into the kitchen. Curious, he leaned forward and opened one of the doors to the armoire. There was a TV, some reading material, and recent movies on DVD. Nothing X-rated. He closed the doors and settled against the sofa cushions in what he hoped looked like a relaxed position. In the two hours and eighteen minutes between her call and his arrival, he hadn’t known a moment of easy breathing.
She returned carrying a tray with a pitcher of tea and two glasses. She set it on the coffee table and filled a glass for each of them. “Sugar?”
“I’m okay.”
She passed him a glass, then carried hers to an armchair where she sat down facing him.
He sipped his tea. She took a sip of hers. But they drank in the sight of each other. He was afraid of starting the conversation, afraid of saying the wrong thing. He didn’t know why she had invited him here today. The familiar manner in which she’d called, and the time of day she’d specified, couldn’t have been coincidental. Yet she’d done nothing to suggest that this would end the way their past meetings in this house had. She may have simply invited him over for tea.
Eventually he said, “Your airline is going gangbusters. That new Select thing sounds interesting.”
“It’s scheduled to launch in three months.” She laughed as she shook her head. “It’s hectic and crazy. So much to do. A million decisions. Daily deadlines.”
He smiled over her apparent exuberance. “But you’re enjoying it.”
“Every minute,” she admitted. “I’m very optimistic for its success. We’ve already sold seventy-eight percent of our membership goal. Through the industry grapevine, I’ve heard that our competitors are scrambling to initiate similar services.”
“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”
“Absolutely. But it’s still
imitation.
We’ll be first.”
Her enthusiasm was evident in the way her whole face lit up. Her eyes sparkled. Her smile was so beautiful and uninhibited, it made his heart ache. And he realized this was the first time he’d ever seen her look really happy. Ever.
He raised his glass in a mock toast. “Good luck to you and Select. Not that you need luck. SunSouth’s stock is at an all-time high.”
“You’re monitoring the stock?”
“I’m an investor.”
“Truly?”
“Yep. Whatever you’re doing, keep it up. It’s working.”
“I’m very busy and working hard, but I’m also maintaining some balance in my life. I give myself Wednesday afternoons off.”
That explained her casual outfit. She wasn’t going back to work later. He tried not to read anything into that. Tried but failed.
She watched him closely as she said, “Those Wednesdays off allow me time to devote to other things that are important to me. Like the Elaine Speakman Foundation.”
He shifted in his seat. “The foundation. Right. I saw your picture in the newspaper recently. At some black-tie fund-raising event. How’d it go?”
“Very well.”
“That’s good.”
“Beyond the money raised that night, the foundation recently received a sizable donation.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“One hundred thousand dollars.”
“You don’t say.”
“Hmm, but it was a rather unusual donation.”
“In what way?”
“For one thing, it was made in cash. Hundred-dollar bills deposited directly into the foundation’s account.”
“Huh.”
“Anonymously.”
“Huh.”
“And the bank handling the deposit said the donor insisted on remaining anonymous.”
Griff kept his expression impassive.
“I respect him for keeping such a generous donation private,” Laura said. “I only hope he knows how much his gift is appreciated.”
“I’m sure he does.”
After what seemed to Griff an endless suspension in conversation, she relented with a gentle smile and changed the subject. “You’ve been staying busy, too.”
“You heard about the program?”
“I saw you interviewed about it on TV.”
“It’s catching on, working out really well.”
“You sound surprised,” she remarked.
“I am. It just sorta dropped into my lap.”
Upon his discharge from the hospital, he had appeared in court and pleaded guilty to the assault charges. Jim McAlister got him released on bail and at his sentencing hearing argued brilliantly on his behalf. His arguments were supported by Laura Speakman’s deposition, presented in her absence by her attorney, as well as by the testimony of Internal Affairs officers who had been investigating Stanley Rodarte.
Griff received a stern reprimand from the judge and had a year of probation tacked onto the ones he was already serving. Jerry Arnold remained his probation officer. McAlister and Glen Hunnicutt, who had proved to be a true friend, took Griff out for dinner to celebrate what they considered a victory.
Shortly after that, Bolly Rich had surprised him by inviting him for lunch. He apologized for refusing to listen when Griff tried to warn him about Rodarte. He said he was sorry for refusing to give Griff aid when he most needed it, but mostly for not giving him the benefit of the doubt. “It was two weeks before Jason would speak to me again.”
Griff waved off the apology. “Don’t worry about it, Bolly.”
“You’re letting me off the hook too easily.”
“I’ve been let off easily, too.”
Then Bolly told him of a program he and other sportswriters across the country had been discussing for a long while. They felt the time had come to implement it. “We’re tired of the negativity surrounding sports, college and professional. As much as we write about slam dunks, touchdowns, and home runs, we’re forced to report on drug abuse, steroid use, guns and violent behavior, rape—”
“Gambling,” Griff said.
“Gambling. We’re sick of all that crap. We want to turn it around, put honor and the ideals of good sportsmanship back into sports. But we’re just a bunch of wordsmiths, and I’m the most colorful of the group, if that gives you any idea. What we need is a spokesperson.” Uneasily, he added, “And somebody who is squeaky clean wouldn’t have much impact.”
“You need a poster boy with a catchy slogan like ‘Don’t fuck up like I did.’”
Bolly grinned. “That sorta captures the gist of our thinking.”
“They needed a bad boy like me to talk to young athletes,” he explained to Laura now. “With the voice of experience, I warn them against common pitfalls. Bolly and his colleagues rounded up some corporate sponsors to fund the program. The NCAA has lent its full-fledged support. Fellowship of Christian Athletes. Alumni organizations. Sports associations all over the country have scheduled me to speak.” He shrugged. “Maybe the talks I give are doing some good.”
“You’re being modest, Griff. I read just this week in Mr. Rich’s column that already they’ve collected thousands of pledges signed by athletes swearing off steroids, et cetera. Including his own son.”
“Jason’s a good kid. He probably wouldn’t get into all that anyway.”
“But others would. Your speeches are making a huge impact.”
“We’ll see.” He grinned at her. “At the very least, I’m chalking up a hell of a lot of frequent flier miles on SunSouth.”
“You should sign up for Select.”
“Can’t afford it. My expenses are covered, and I get a more than decent salary, but I’m not going to get rich, Laura. Ever.” He would never be rich like Foster Speakman. Like her. That was what he was telling her. “But I’m working in sports, on the periphery at least. And I’m doing something worthwhile.” He smiled. “Sometimes, after I give a speech, they even ask me to toss the football a time or two. Give them pointers. Stuff like that.”
“I’m sure those young athletes are dazzled.”
“I don’t know about that. But I enjoy it.”
They were quiet for a time. She glanced out the window, into the fireplace, at the bowl of tulips. “Would you like some more tea?”
“No thanks.”
“How is your friend Marcia?”
He was surprised she remembered Marcia. “Doing good. I saw her just last week.”
“Oh.”
At that Laura’s polite smile wavered just a bit. Or maybe he imagined it. “She’s got one more surgery scheduled, but it’s only for fine tuning.”
“The operations were successful, then.”
“She looks fantastic. Better than ever.”
“That’s good. Is she…has she returned to…work?”
“Full-time.”
“Really.”
“Yep. Business as usual.”
“Hmm.”
If she was wondering about the nature of his visit to Marcia, why didn’t she come right out and ask? He was hoping she would. He could tell her they were strictly friends now, but at least Laura’s asking would indicate she cared about whether he was satisfying his sexual urges with a professional.
Instead, she said, “How were your holidays?”
“Fattening. Ellie cooked like there was no tomorrow. Yours?”
“I went away. Stayed in a bed-and-breakfast in Vermont, drove back roads, read a lot.”
“Sounds nice.” Sounded lonely.
“Would you like some more tea?”
“You asked me that already, and I said no.”
“Sorry. How is your shoulder?”
“Fine.”
“All healed?”
“Laura, why did you call me?”
His abruptness surprised her, then she looked chagrined for being caught stalling. She took a deep breath and said quietly, “I wanted to thank you.”
His heart plummeted. She really had invited him just for tea. “What for?”
“For keeping our secret. You had so many opportunities to tell the whole sordid story. You didn’t. You protected Foster, as well as me. He certainly hadn’t earned your confidence. I wanted to tell you how much I appreciated it.”
“Well, I didn’t exactly want the world to know I’d been your stud for hire.”
“Whatever your reason, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He didn’t want her goddamn
gratitude.
He had honored his promise to Coach and to himself not to contact her, although not a day had gone by that he hadn’t wanted to. So today, after months, when she’d called, he’d thought maybe…
But no. While he was sitting here making polite conversation, aching to touch her, wanting to taste her mouth, all she’d wanted was to say
thank you.
He couldn’t take any more.
Agitated, he rubbed his palms against his thighs, then abruptly stood up. “Look, I need to run. I’ve got a…thing.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She stood as well. “I didn’t mean to keep you.”
“No, it’s okay. It was good to see you.”
“It was good to see you, too.”
“Right. Thanks for the tea.”
As he turned toward the door, he lightly slapped his side, which served as a reminder. “Oh, I almost forgot. I brought you something.” Reaching into the flap pocket of his sports jacket, he took out a small box.
She looked at him quizzically as he passed it to her. “What’s this?”
“One way to find out.”
She held it, hesitating a moment before pulling the end of the ribbon to untie the bow. He realized he was holding his breath as she removed the lid. Lying on a bed of satin was a tiny gold star with an infinitesimal diamond in its center. She kept her head down, staring at the charm, so he couldn’t see her reaction. But she remained so still he began to think this had been a lousy idea.
When another moment passed and she still didn’t say anything, he tried to justify himself. “It wasn’t very far along, I know. Probably no bigger than that diamond. But…” He ran his fingers through his hair. “But there’s no marker, you know? Nothing to show that it ever existed. And it did. At least for a few weeks.”
She kept her head down, didn’t move.
Shit! Bad idea. Really,
really
bad.
He should just shut up about it and leave. Instead, he said, “I thought you might like to have something to remember it by.”
When she finally raised her head, her face was wet with tears. “I’ll always remember it. I’ll hold it in my heart for as long as I live.”
They moved simultaneously. His arms enfolded her, and he held on like he would never let her go. He might have vowed as much. Afterward, he couldn’t remember for sure what declarations he’d made at some later time and which ones he’d made right then, just before cupping her face in his hands and lifting it to his. He did remember telling her he loved her, repeating it as he kissed her lips, her eyes, cheeks, and brow. Finally their lips met and they kissed deeply and ardently.