Playing the Game (17 page)

“That God damned bastard. So that’s what he meant.”

Harry looked up.

“Of course, whatever I can do to help in my spare time, let me know. And I’m sure Laura will donate her lunch hours.”

Roxanne put her hands on her hips and laughed. “Harry, you’re more like mashed potatoes.” She stepped up to him and planted a kiss on his forehead. He turned red and she laughed again. Harry mumbled something about getting back to work. Roxanne walked to the door to leave, then turned.

“Don’t worry about a thing.”

“I wasn’t worried. You just make sure you properly wrap those NIH people around your pinky. I don’t want anything to unravel later.”

Normally Roxanne drove herself to the airport, especially when she was taking such an early flight and returning the same night. But tonight she had other plans. She dropped her briefcase in the foyer after she ran down the stairs.

“No need to run. Laura’s not supposed to get here for another ten minutes.” Bonnie handed Roxanne a mug of coffee and they both went into the kitchen and sat down.

“That’s right. I forgot I set my alarm ten minutes ahead.” Roxanne laughed as she inspected her freshly painted cherry red nails. Bonnie looked her over.

“I suppose you’re going dressed in that outfit.”

“Now don’t start. It’s too late for me to change anyway.”

“Maybe just the sweater. You could wear a white blouse instead. I know just the one. I’ll get it.”

“No. This is more than a business trip. Remember? I’m going to the Celtics-Bullets game afterwards.”

Bonnie stood with her hands on her hips, lips pursed.

“Aha. And what are these NIH people supposed to think? You’re some kind of floozy? Not that they’d be wrong, mind you.”

Roxanne laughed. Bonnie sat down again with a sigh.

“Bonnie, relax. They know me. I’ll only be dealing with a few men at a meeting—a business lunch, a few drinks afterwards, et cetera.” She laughed when Bonnie’s eyes widened.

“That afterwards part’s what I always worry about,” the woman sighed. “I guess I’m getting old and envious.”

“No guessing about it,” Roxanne said when she heard Laura’s car out front. They both rose.

“I hope you realize you’re damned lucky to have a friend like Laura driving you to the airport at this hour,” Bonnie said as they reached the foyer. Roxanne got her things together and smiled at the older woman.

“Lucky nothing. I would do the same for her. Besides, we made a deal and she gets to drive the ‘Vette for the day. I’d have been better off taking a taxi.”

Laura took the driver’s seat and they headed toward Logan International Airport. Six a.m. traffic was heavier than expected, but then all traffic in the Boston area was getting heavier and heavier.

“Did you get the return flight you needed?” Laura asked.

“Yup.”

“I’m not so sure this is a good idea. What if Barry has other plans?”

“I’ll figure something out. If that happens you may get a late phone call for a ride home.” Roxanne smiled and Laura groaned.

“I suppose I shouldn’t worry. What’s the worst that could happen? You’re sure he has a car? Don’t they take a team bus to the airport or something?” Laura asked.

Roxanne let out a sigh and covered her face with her hands. “Will you stop worrying? They all drive themselves to Logan. Remember, if all else fails, I can always take a cab home. Where’s your sense of adventure and spontaneity anyway?”

“Don’t you remember? I never had any. You’ve always had enough crazy ideas for the both of us,” Laura reminded her.

Roxanne laughed. It was true. They’d done a lot together over the years and she’d always had to coax Laura into going along. And that had been part of the fun too—knowing she was being outrageous.

“How did you get tickets anyway?”

“I don’t need tickets. I’m going to the game on a media pass.”

“How?”

Roxanne avoided Laura’s gaze, looking out the window. “I got it through the TV station. But I had to promise to ask for another interview with Barry, or at least get an interview with the coach or someone.” She looked out at the planes taking off in the distance. As they neared the airport, Roxanne reeled off a list of instructions for Laura on what had to be done that day, all relating to the Dr. Oki fund.

“Aren’t you forgetting that I’m not supposed to be working on this?” Laura was smiling as she said it.

Roxanne got out of the car. “Take a long lunch. See you later.”

The flight to DC was uneventful. Roxanne had taken along some background material she had to read for an interview shoot the next day for her show. The show’s ratings had been respectable if not stellar and that bothered her. Of course, the airing featuring Barry Dennis had gotten excellent ratings and she felt her current ratings would be a lot lower now had it not been for that one interview. The producer had been right. But now she had to think of something else, something new to give the show another surge. But what? She frowned. It would come to her eventually.

The NIH meetings that day were successful if long. Her contacts confirmed assertions that the hospital’s ability to raise other funds was a factor in their award decisions. But they conceded that they couldn’t turn it into a trend without hurting the hospital in the long run. They had no intention of dong that. They were very sympathetic to Roxanne’s efforts to salvage what she could of Dr. Oki’s program and gave their full support to her effort.

“At least I got that much,” Roxanne said to Harry, walking and talking on her cell phone. “I wanted them to consider another grant application but they said not to bother.” She was heading from the restaurant to the game, along with crowds of people in the street.

“Dr. Oki probably already knows this. He’s busy putting together a new research project,” Harry said.

“I suppose he has enough to keep him busy being the Director of Research alone, without being principal investigator on any research projects.” Roxanne wondered that if Dr. Oki could move on, why couldn’t she? This crusade was the last thing she needed, really. Maybe she should spend her time and energy worrying about her personal financial problems. But that was just it. She didn’t want to have to think about any of her personal problems. And then the picture of Lindy lying in her BCNU tent came to mind and she knew she had lost all professional objectivity.

After bidding Harry good-bye, she checked her Rolex and realized she’d barely make the pregame warm-ups if she hurried. She grabbed a taxi the rest of the way to the Capitol Center.

Walking through the door of the press entrance, she flashed her media pass at the attendants and sped down a long, dingy hall. She pushed through some double doors, passed between rows of seats and out onto the floor of the basketball court of the Washington Bullets. There were a few men in uniform shooting at the basket down the other end and she walked closer. She recognized Barry Dennis in gray warm-ups, dribbling the ball around a defender. She walked nearly under the basket where she stood and waited for him to notice her.

He felt hot already, and sweaty, and he’d only been out there ten minutes. The place was hot, but he needed to be better prepared for these conditions. He decided to add six miles to his weekly running routine starting tomorrow. He rubbed the sweat from his forehead with one forearm as he stared into the eyes of the man in front of him, controlling the ball with the other hand. The man reached in, lunging forward to attempt to steal the ball. Barry backed it away quicker than the reach and in one motion, swung his body around the other way. He bolted past the man, full force ahead. He jumped into the air, heaved the ball with one hand up and over his head and into the basket. He landed, ducking out of the way as the ball swished through the net.

It wasn’t until he bent to pick up the ball, intending to give the man another chance, that he saw her.

The first thing he saw was her legs, clad in pale stockings atop ivory heels. They were cut off at the knees by her skirt, but he would recognize those legs in any disguise. His pulse moved a bit faster. He slowly stood up and when he was erect, in more ways than one, he looked her in the face.

“In the neighborhood and thought you’d drop in?” he inquired.

She laughed. Her eyes sparkled with that familiar seductive twinkle that never failed to ratchet up his pulse.

“As a matter of fact, yes. I was in DC on business and I couldn’t resist coming to see you.”

“Couldn’t resist, eh? You keep making pregame appearances and my concentration level is going to go to hell.” His smile faded, replaced by a crease in his brow. She stood with her jacket slung over her arm and her hands on her hips and she appeared to be studying him. “Have you seen Lindy this week? The doctors tell me she’s doing okay.”

“I saw her yesterday. She’s making good progress. The skin grafts look like they’ll take about 70-80%. Maybe have to do two or three more. She’s in a lot of pain, still heavily drugged.” She paused. There was no accusation in her eyes, but the feeling pierced him before she ever spoke the words.

“She asks for you every time I see her without fail. She wants you, you know. More than that—she needs you.”

“Yeah, well maybe her mother was right about me.” He turned away.

“I know you don’t believe that, Mr. Bad.”

He turned back to see her teasing smile and laughed.

“Has Paris been in to see her?” He held his breath.

“Every day.”

“Fuck.”

She raised her brows and her eyes were back to mocking him. She had to be a bitch to enjoy seeing him squirm, but he couldn’t blame her.

“I’m doing the best I can. I know it’s not enough.” He paused. “It’ll get better.” He hoped the hell it was true.

She shook her head and gave him a calculated look and he hoped to God she’d change the subject. She had his weak spot pinned and seemed to take pleasure in holding him by the balls.

“So you’re having trouble concentrating these days are you?”

“Yeah. I’ve been restless.” He taunted her, then added so she wouldn’t get a big head, “Ever since we won the last title.”

“Right.”

“Look, I can’t stand here talking to you.” He turned to see a couple of his teammates watching them with unconcealed interest evident. He turned back to Roxanne and sighed, shaking his head.

“I shouldn’t be talking to some woman right now. Normally I’d be by myself psyching up for this game.” He looked down and bounced the ball on the floor, aware he’d turned too serious, too real, but he didn’t move from the spot. He wondered how she’d react.

“You do that. I’ll see you after the game.” She smiled at him in her wicked way, seemingly unperturbed by his admission. She flung her jacket over her shoulder and walked away. He watched her walk even as he told himself he should get going. But the sway of her hips and curve of her rear had him hypnotized. Until the pierce of cat calls and whistles split the air and he turned, losing his handle on the ball, to see his teammates laughing.

Deftly regaining control of the ball, and his mind, he did some tight dribbling and trotted over to where they stood, cursing himself under his breath.

“And we all thought you came out here early for some practice shooting.” Dave McCall grinned, slapping his buddy on the back. Barry looked at them all as they waited for him to explain.

“Shooting? You think I’m going to waste my time shooting when I can be making time with that babe?” He laughed at them, enjoying seeing their grins falter with uncertainty.

“Practice shooting a waste of time? Is this the real Barry Dennis?”

“I think they kidnapped the real Barry Dennis and gave us this lookalike imposter. And he ain’t all that good-looking at that,” Dave said and met Barry’s gaze with a frank smile.

Barry punched his arm.

“Got to admit. She’s a gorgeous woman. She’d turn any man’s head,” Barry said, looking at his three teammates. They stopped laughing.

“Oh, but Barry Dennis isn’t supposed to be just any man,” his center said. “Hey don’t you know? You’re not allowed to be distracted by the hordes of babes like the rest of us. What happened to your steady gal? Since when do you play the field?”

They were all smiling, but Barry sensed the question in their minds and mentally winced. He laughed a tight laugh. They all laughed and followed Dave, who’d started heading back to the dressing room. He was the only one who seemed genuinely amused.

Back in the dressing room, everyone on the team looked upbeat and joking as usual. Everyone except Barry. That was the second time this season he’d heard that he wasn’t supposed to be human like everyone else and he found it was beginning to grate on him.
God damn it—I am a man
.

He took his seat amidst the activity in the cramped quarters of the visitors’ locker room and put his head in his hands. Everything seemed to be on his mind tonight but the game ahead. He stood up.

“The hell with it,” he muttered. Dave glanced his way and met Barry’s eyes with a questioning look. Barry shrugged his shoulders. He looked away and proceeded to dress for the game without a further thought. He’d never skipped his meditation before.

The game.

Everything felt so familiar, too familiar. The coach’s talk, the pregame warm-ups, the procession to the bench. It was all the same. Only meaningless. His mind fluttered over the image of Lindy in that plastic tent, lying helpless. But he stopped that thought. He shut his mind down before the sight of the hideous burns came into focus.

Music blared. It all felt like a
Groundhog’s Day
experience to Barry. The procedure was so routine for him, he didn’t have to be there for real—only his shell made an appearance. The booming voice announced the visiting team first. They always announced the visiting team first.

“Celtics forward Dave McCall,”  the man roared over the microphone to a smattering of boos and applause. Barry felt his hands clapping in response. He bent to stretch his hamstrings, letting the blood rush to his head.
Please God, I have to get myself back into this
. He felt his face getting warm and he heard the announcer as if from a long distance.