Tooth and Nail (32 page)

The pitcher threw a strike. As I clapped, a shadow fell over me. I looked up as he handed me a plastic cup of foamy beer, then he sat, wedging an open box of Cracker Jack between us. He took a sip and leaned back, surveying the field. “Nothing like a cold beer and a ballgame.”

I nodded as the pitcher hurled another strike. “Well, Mahoney, that’s the first thing you and I have found that we can agree on.”

He pushed up his glasses with his middle finger and squinted at me. “Your nose is pretty red.”

“I know. I can feel it.”

He reached into a small duffel bag at his feet and pulled out a tube of sunblock. He screwed off the top and handed it to me. I rubbed the coconutty cream on my nose as the fans cheered at something I missed. Then I leaned across my knee and Mahoney leaned across his.

“There’s a dentist, Riley Clayton,” I said. “His office is at 14
^th
and K. He’s invented a toothpaste for kids called Smile Wide, and he’s debuting it on TV-Spree Monday night. But I have it on good authority that it’s tainted, and kids shouldn’t be using it.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, and just watched the field. A batter walked to first, and the crowd groaned. “How do you know?”

“Some scientists have run tests. I just know about it. But you
can’t
name their names, and you
certainly
can’t name mine.”

“I won’t need to. Didn’t it get FDA approval?”

“Yes, but— “I thought of Denise and Rebecca rendered speechless and senseless by Clayton’s gaze “-he’s very good at getting his way.”

“Did he bribe someone?”

“Listen,” I told him, “I don’t know. I’m giving you this, and now you’ll have to do your job. I’ll put a couple of lab geeks in contact with you. You can break the story and start the investigation rolling before Monday so TV-Spree can yank it. This toothpaste can’t go on the market. It’s dangerous for kids.”

The runner got picked off at second, the catcher’s throw hitting the second baseman’s glove so hard, everyone in the park could hear the
thwump
. The crowd cheered around us, but Mahoney looked disappointed and bemused. “Is this all you’ve got for me?”

“What more do you want?” I asked him. “You said at the fundraiser that you’re a hack, but that you want to write more important, bigger things. Well, here it is, pal. Write this one, expose this guy, and you can make an important contribution to society and help kids. Unless you were lying to me, and you really are satisfied with just making politicians cry themselves to sleep because you told everyone about their affairs with the nannies. In which case, quit wasting my time.”

“Toothpaste,” he said, and we sat in silence, watching the inning until the final out. Then he said, “I know there’s more.”

“Sure there’s more,” I told him. “But you threatened to mess with Avery. I don’t trust you. You’re lucky you’re getting this much.”

He frowned, and I continued. “You said you’re willing to work together. Well, there is no partnership when one person’s doing things out of fear of retribution. Do this, and do this
today
, and maybe our relationship will change a little bit.”

He leaned back and considered for a moment. “You’re afraid of me?” he asked.

“No,” I said, “and wipe that smirk off your face. I have dirt on you, too, remember. I know your identity. What makes you so certain I’m not going to go blabbing that to media people?”

“Because no one cares,” Mahoney said. “Seriously, who cares who I am? My phantom identity is a good gimmick, but the jig will be up sooner or later, and it won’t affect my work.”

So much for upper hand. “Do we have a deal?” I asked.

“I’m not sure. Is the deal that I get this toothpaste thing out in the open today, and then you and I have a little more of an honest give-and-take?”

It would have been so easy, in that moment, to turn on the glamour, to say,
yes, it’s a deal, just do as I say and go away forever and everything will work out fine
. And he would scamper home and write his story and wonder for the rest of time why he agreed to honor my request and I would be in the clear.

But after Svein’s assumption that the only way the human in me could solve this was with a gun, I was determined to not only stop Clayton, but to stop him with my human half. Let Svein see that humans didn’t need to resort to violence to solve conflict—that my intelligence and ingenuity could trump wings and glamour.

So I swallowed my pride and forced myself to really look at Mahoney—not as a mudslinger, but as a person who’d seen a fae and that after a lifetime of keeping only one secret, he just wanted to know he was right. I might be able to work something out where he didn’t necessarily have to expose the fae. Maybe there was a way he could work with us. I couldn’t figure it all out today, but today I had to accept that I could make a deal.

“Yes, that’s the deal,” I told him. “But I’m making this promise to Greg Mahoney and not to the D.C. Digger. The Digger and I have nothing more to say to each other after today. Do you understand?”

He thought for one moment more, searching my face, and then put out his hand. “I understand,” he said, and shook much more firmly than I would have expected. Then he let go, reached his hand into the Cracker Jacks box, and turned his attention to the field. “Come on, Nats!” he yelled. Then, to me, “We’re going to win this one. I can feel it.”

“You know what?” I said. “So can I.”

>=<

“I’m only going to be gone one night,” Avery said. “You don’t need to look so forlorn.”

“I’m not,” I said, watching cross-legged on the bed as he folded a tie and dropped it in his small suitcase. He hesitated, then folded a second tie and dropped it in also.

“I’m not sure which one I want,” he said before I could ask. “I’ll decide tomorrow. I don’t know which would show better on TV.”

“Either,” I said, “as long as you’re the one wearing it.”

His smile was tight and I said, “You’re really nervous about this, aren’t you?”

“A lot of people watch ‘Late Night with Wright,’” he said. “He’s political, but he’s a comedian, and plenty of his viewers don’t necessarily follow politics. It’s the people who are ambivalent about or hate politics that I want to impress.” He sighed. “That’s hard.”

“So what about just relaxing? You’ve seen Wright’s show. You know he’s going to do some funny stuff with you as the straight guy in the joke, so just go with it.”

“That’s the thing,” he said, folding a pair of suit pants along the crease. “I usually go into speaking engagements and appearances more prepared because I know what to generally expect. Tomorrow night, I don’t know.” He dropped the pants in. “Hey, do you want to go? I didn’t ask because it’s only one night and we won’t have much time, but you can tool around New York a little. I’m sure you can get a seat on my flight tomorrow morning.”

“Nah,” I said. “Unless you really need me there, I’d rather sit here and watch you on TV while I’m in my pajamas. I can fantasize that you’re a famous person I have a crush on.”

“Instead of?”

“Instead of the famous person I have a crush on who shares the rent.”

“The former scenario is more appealing, eh?”

“It’s the fantasy thing.”

“This isn’t a fantasy?”

I reached down to the floor beside the bed and lifted one black, dusty sock. “This,” I said, holding it up with two fingers, “isn’t a fantasy.”

“My socks are never on the floor,” he protested. “In fact, I think you planted that there, like a bloody glove at the crime scene, so you could make a convenient point at a moment like this one.”

“Maybe,” I admitted, and flung the sock at him. It hit his shoulder. “Do you really need me to go with you?”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll be back Sunday morning.”

I was relieved, because I needed to stay here to monitor the Clayton situation. Until I knew for sure Mahoney had held up his end of the deal, I didn’t want to go anywhere. Luckily, if I’d played my cards right—and I was confident I did—Clayton would cease to be a Olde Way threat this very weekend and would be hiring a lawyer, and I could tune in to TV-Spree Monday night and buy lipsticks or mops or casserole dishes—anything but toothpaste.

“Hopefully when I’m back,” Avery was saying, “I won’t be bummed because I managed to look like an idiot on national television.”

“How could you?”

“The last time a McCormack was on television,” Avery pointed out, “it was Dad, and they were crucifying him. Outside of Virginia and D.C., that’s all the public remembers about my family.”

“God damn it, already,” I said. I hopped off the bed and wedged myself between him and his suitcase. “Look at me. Look
at
me. That is the past. You’re the new McCormack in town. Quit looking over your shoulder. There’s nothing back there for you. You’re you and today is today and that’s the end of it.”

He furrowed his brow and took a step back as if to get a better look at me. “Wow.”

“Wow, what?”

“Wow, that’s exactly what I’ve said to you about your past, about your father.”

I crawled back onto the bed and leaned into the pillows. “Obviously, that’s not the same thing.”

“No, of course not, but the advice is still sound. Would you take your own advice, then?”

Would I? “Yes,” I said, nodding my head once as punctuation. “Yes, I would. I’m not still living with the consequences of what he did.”

Avery lifted a brow.

“I’m not,” I insisted. “Not anymore. I’ve gotten out from under that, and it’s been recently.”

“What brought on that transformation?” Avery asked.

“I’ve been transformed in ways even I can’t get over.” I dropped my head on the pillow and reached my arms over my head.

“You’ve gotten a sunburn, at any rate,” Avery noted.

I had to admit, I was feeling pretty good. I was tempted to call Svein and gloat about my simple solution to Clayton’s huge problem, but I decided to wait it out. Let him hear about it himself. With any luck, it would be news tomorrow.

Avery slipped a pair of black dress shoes into the sides of the suitcase. “Let’s practice,” I said to him.

“Practice what?”

“Practice what you’re going to say on Wright’s show tomorrow night.”

“How can I do that?”

“I’ll pretend to be Wright and throw a few things at you, and you practice reacting off the cuff.”

“This is silly,” he said, but he’d stopped packing and I was certain the perfectionist in him loved the idea.

“It can’t possibly hurt, and maybe it will even help.” I scooted over on my knees, lifted his wheeled bag and placed it on the floor. “Have a seat, Avery McCormack. Let the studio audience get a good look at you. You’re a handsome man, you know that?”

“He won’t say that.”

“Believe me,” I said, “he very well could.” I deepened my voice. “Great to have you on the show.”

“Glad to be here, Graham.”

“I understand you’re looking to represent Virginia in the House of Representatives.”

“That’s right.”

“What do you think Virginia can bring to the table? Anything? I mean, they couldn’t even hang on to West Virginia.”

“Gemma, I’m pretty sure Graham isn’t going to make me talk about secession.”

“You really never know. That’s why we’re practicing.” I deepened my voice again. “So, Virginia. As in, Virginia is for Lovers.”

“That it is.”

“I’ll bet. I understand you and your girlfriend are living in sin.”

Avery laughed. “I wouldn’t exactly call it that, Graham.”

“Well, then, what would you call it?”

“I call it spending the most intimate part of my life with the most intimate person in my life, a woman who I very much plan on convincing to change her last name at some point in the near future. Maybe even a nearer future than she thinks.”

I lost my voice.

“Graham,” he said, “I seem to have astonished you with that response.”

I shook my head. “No,” I said in my normal voice and then remembered my role. “No, I just can’t believe you managed to weasel out of that line of questioning so, ah, so nicely.”

Avery’s eyes sparkled.

“I love you,” I said.

“If Graham Wright said that to me,” Avery said, “I’m pretty sure it would be one of the most famous interviews ever.”

“Sorry. What I mean is, um, er …” I struggled to get back into interviewer mode. “Where was I? Right, Virginia. As in, ‘Yes, Virginia, There Is a Santa Claus.’ Are you familiar with that piece of literature?”

“Yes, Graham, that was a newspaper editorial written in the 19
^th
century in which the writer sought to convince a little girl that it was very much worth it to believe in Santa Claus, and faeries, and other magical things that can’t be seen, because just because you haven’t seen them, it doesn’t mean they don’t, in fact, exist.”

I was astonished for the second time. I had just been free-associating when I came up with that article, and I would have never remembered that the article had mentioned faeries. But while we were on the topic: “So, then, you’re saying you believe in Santa Claus?”

Avery shifted. “I do believe in Santa Claus, on a certain level. I believe in the meaning of Santa Claus, the generosity of Christmas and the wonder of children.”

“So what about fae?”

“What?”

“
Faeries
,” I said, wincing.

“What about them?”

“Do you believe they exist?”

“I’m—I’m going to have to say no.” Avery smiled a perfect politician smile, humoring and kind but, at the same time, just a bit detached.

“Why not?” I asked. “Didn’t you just say that you believe in Santa Claus?”

“I believe in the spirit of the Santa Claus legend. I don’t believe in an old man in a red velvet suit.”

“Do you believe in the faerie legend?”

“I wasn’t aware that there was a faerie legend. I mean, certainly not surrounding a major American tradition.”

I swallowed, and smiled to hide every little thing I was thinking in that moment. “So you’ve never heard of the tooth faeries?”

“Tooth faeries? There are more than one?”

“Oh, so you do believe there is at least one.”

“No, I don’t think … “

“Careful, Avery,” I said in my non-Graham voice. “There are always kids who are up too late watching television. This is why you need to practice.”