Whisper Privileges (12 page)

Sydney’s heart sank. She could only imagine
how foolish she looked—to Clay, the famous pilot, the Mayor...even
Sam. She cast a hot watery gaze to the floor. She should never have
agreed to this charade, should never have pretended she could do
something she could not. She wasn’t a public speaker. She didn’t
like getting up in front of people.
Didn’t anyone get
that
?

Music began to play and the Mayor clasped her
by the elbow, propelling her offstage. The clench to her arm grew
stronger as he commandeered the stairs, strong enough that his
fingers dug into her skin and began to hurt. Once off the stage,
Mayor Cortez let go and asked, “Are you alright, Sydney? Can I get
you something to drink?”

She shook her head. Where she could use the
water, she didn’t want to feed the pity in his voice. “I’m fine.”
She dropped to her seat.

“Are you sure?” He craned his head as though
looking deeper would reveal the truth.

“Yes,” she murmured, fighting the urge to
cry.

Video streamed across the screen as Mr.
Shriver took the podium and spoke about his mother and the amazing
athletes in attendance tonight. The Mayor settled back into the
seat next to her, but she could tell he was not happy. No longer
allowing his thigh to touch hers, he angled his body away as if to
sever their connection entirely. She’d made him look bad,
embarrassed him. She was a smudge on his reputation.

Sydney crossed her arms and pushed against
the rigid plastic back of her seat. Well
too
bad. He’d get
no sympathy from her. The only reason she was here was because he
wanted to use her. If she’d done well, who knows? He may have taken
that as his cue to push himself on her even more than he had over
lunch! She wasn’t naïve. His reputation as a womanizer was
well-known and probably well-deserved.

Startled by the tap on her shoulder, she
whipped around and came face-to-face with a plump little girl. The
youngster smiled broadly behind pink metal-rimmed glasses, the
corners adorned with butterflies. “Don’t wurry,”she said with
thick-tongued speech. “You did yur best.”

Tears pushed into Sydney’s eyes.

The girl patted her shoulder and said,
“Happens to me sometimes, too.”

Rendered mute by the gesture, she could only
nod as tears caught in her lashes, spilled onto her cheeks. Even
this child knew she made a fool of herself. Sydney turned back to
face the stage as Mr. Shriver extolled the virtues of thousands
upon thousands of volunteers across the country, their images
splayed across the screen behind him. She wiped the back of her
hand against her cheeks and watched the images roll by. The
pressure in her chest subsided. Her breathing returned to normal as
she watched athletes of all sizes, ages and shapes celebrated life,
victory, camaraderie and the simple pleasure of being a part of the
games.

White strips of light zipped over the stadium
seating as the tradition of law enforcement carrying the flame
cross-country was described, raising money and awareness for the
events and how they had come through a total of seventy different
communities in this state alone before arriving here tonight as
part of the final leg of the Law Enforcement Torch Run. “The
Guardians of the Flame...”

Sydney shrank further into her seat as videos
played overhead on the big screens while spotlights whipped through
the crowd, then landed on the athletes and officers as they jogged
the heavy-looking metal torch into the arena and around the stage.
Camera flashes exploded across the faceless sea of onlookers. Held
high in the air, Sydney stared at the flame through the dim light.
She learned in her prep for this event that this was longstanding
tradition; the result of fundraising efforts by law enforcement
groups on behalf of the Special Olympics—because they wanted to
give back to their community.

Everyone cheered, the music grew somber. One
man took possession, stepped up the steel platform and lit the
Olympic cauldron representing the National Games. The flame licked
and danced within the enormous shallow metal bowl. “Let the games
begin!”

The energy in the room swelled to a crescendo
matched only by the orchestra music ramping the crowd into a frenzy
of celebration. She could hear the young girl behind her chanting,
Florida
!
Florida
! While others did the same for their
home states. Wanting no part in the festivities, Sydney counted the
minutes until she could politely excuse herself and leave. Get as
far as possible from this fiasco and hope no one remembered her.
Luckily, Mayor Cortez seemed to have lost interest in her and
quickly excused himself abruptly. Probably looking for brighter
more brilliant females, ones that could speak on stage, further
enhance his image, perhaps even warm his bed.

Whatever
. Sydney pushed out of her
seat and headed for the exit. She didn’t care. This wasn’t her
career track. She planned events, she didn’t speak at them. She
angled her shoulders and picked up her pace, sidling past the
throng of people. She made good time until she hit a group of
Nebraska athletes trying to wedge their mass of bodies through a
narrow hallway. Despite rationalizing this wasn’t her career, it
wasn’t her thing, she couldn’t quite shake the feeling of “loser.”
She made a fool of herself. No, make that
ass
. Tasked with
the simple duty of saying something nice about her hometown, she
couldn’t manage a simple hello. Couldn’t utter more than a
croak.

“Sydney!”

Her heart tripped at the sound of Clay’s
voice. “Great,” she muttered under her breath.
Pretend you
didn’t hear him
.

“Sydney!” he called out again, this time
louder—closer.

He was the last person she wanted to see
right now.

“Wait up!”

She could persist in her exit but the exodus
of attendees trying to do the same would prevent her escape. Clay
would catch up with her making the confrontation inevitable. No
sense adding to her humiliation by making it obvious she was trying
to avoid him. Sydney turned, stepped aside, and waited for him.

Within seconds, they were face-to-face. “Hey,
thanks for waiting,” he said breathlessly.

“No problem,” she quipped. Pushing loose
strands of hair behind an ear, she glanced around. “What’s up?”

Confusion swirled in the blue of his eyes,
overwhelming his previous elation. Yet he smiled just the same. “I
just wanted to say hello.”

“Hi.” She linked her arms across her chest
and checked the hall progress.

Taking note, he asked, “You in a hurry?”

“Kinda.”

“Oh...well, don’t let me keep you.”

If Clay was put off by her curt replies, he
hid it well. She chucked a gaze around the crowd and said, “I’m
going nowhere fast. What’s up?”

“Q will be competing tomorrow morning. I
thought maybe you’d like to stop by.”

“Maybe,” she said, shifting her weight from
heel to heel. “Depends on my schedule.”

“Pretty busy, are you?”

Handing out toilet paper and fielding phone
calls? Oh, yeah. Busy, busy, busy. But Clay didn’t know she was
nothing more than a Girl Friday. “Yes. You know how these things
go. Something unexpected always comes up, last minute.” She rolled
her eyes. “Venue needs help and I’m it.”

“I do,” he replied quietly, his gaze closing
in around her. He understood perfectly.

“Okay, well...tell him good luck and I’ll see
you around.”

“Sure thing,” he said.

Sydney turned and headed out, but she could
feel the sting of her rejection, jabbed in him like a needle to the
heart. She was being a bitch and she knew it. They both knew it.
But she didn’t care. A man like Clay couldn’t understand what she
was going through. He had no fear—certainly not over silly things
like saying a few words to a crowd. His life was composed of
serious demands like a child who needed him, with special needs
that required special attention. His challenges made hers look
childish. Trying to explain the same would only reveal her for the
lightweight she was. Sydney slipped between and around athletes and
bumped into a heavyset man. Without stopping, she mumbled an
apology, “Sorry.”

“No worries!” he called back
good-naturedly.

She waved a hand that she heard and made a
fast track for the parking lot, putting as much space as possible
between herself and the arena—Clay, her embarrassing failure... So
much for volleyball celebrity-extraordinaire. Could she look any
worse? She shoved open a door. Doubtful. So much for the
flirtatious game of pursuit she was beginning to enjoy with him. No
man in his right mind would want to be with her at this point.
Sydney heaved a sigh. Not one worthy of entertaining, anyway.
Question was, how did she avoid him for the next ten days?

Chapter Nine

As Sydney turned into the parking lot for the
pool, her pulse scattered and tripped. It was her first scheduled
rounds, and undoubtedly she would run into Clay—the last man she
wanted to see. Okay, that was a lie. She wanted to see him. She
just didn’t want to face him. Not after her debacle last night and
subsequent brush-off. What had possessed her to do that to him? It
only made matters worse.

Rolling through rows of cars, tall, skinny
palm trees swayed along the perimeter, their fronds brilliant and
green as they swayed lazily against the blue sky, she searched for
a spot. Her first stop this morning had been the family center
where she checked to make sure the info packets were stocked and
stuffed filled with things to do and see in Miami. Despite Lisa’s
assertions to the affirmative, Sydney wanted to see for herself.
Once satisfied All American had corrected their errors, she moved
on to the soccer fields, the basketball courts. With events
scheduled from seven forty-five in the morning to five-thirty in
the evening, it was likely she’d be cruising venues all day.

Sydney parked the Mustang and rose from her
car, glad for the breeze. Hair tied back, the wind cooled the sheen
of humidity on her neck, eased the growing moisture beneath her
shirt. While June in Miami wasn’t horribly hot, it was warm enough
to demand shorts and short-sleeves for the job. Notebook in hand,
she headed for the pool house entrance.

Would she see Clay
? And if she did,
would he now blow
her
off?

Wouldn’t blame him if he did, not after the
way she treated him last night. She’d deserve it if he completely
ignored her. Isn’t that what she tried to do to him?

She blew out a heavy sigh. She had been
unnecessarily rude and at minimum, her behavior warranted an
apology. Being ill-mannered wasn’t her style. Whether he’d accept
it or not was something else.

Sydney nodded hello to the pair of medics
hanging outside the entrance. Each tipped their head in her
direction as she passed and smiled hello. She returned the same.
While she appreciated their presence, the sight of them bothered
her. It made her uncomfortable to think they may actually be
needed.

Sydney swung open the glass door and was hit
by the distinct scent of chlorine, the air marked by a heavy
humidity. It was wholly different than what she felt outside and
with no breeze, the interior held a sense of wetness that almost
coated her skin. People milled about the foyer, the reception desk.
They perused pictures of the university swim team that lined the
wall, the ribbons and trophies that filled glass cases—some of
which probably dated back to the days when diver Greg Louganis
attended school here. By the time he arrived in Miami, he’d already
had an Olympic silver medal to his name, then transferred back to
California and won the gold in the Summer Olympics, 1984. Although
neither medal was earned during his stint at the University of
Miami, it didn’t stop the school from inducting him into their
Sports Hall of Fame.

“May I help you?

Sydney looked to the young brunette behind
the counter, her hair combed back into a perfect French braid and
said, “I’m Sydney Flores with JL Conventions.” A fact reinforced by
the logo emblazoned on her cream-colored Polo. “I’m here to assist
with the events?” she prompted, raising her credentials for the
girl’s inspection. “The Special Olympics people are expecting
me.”

“Oh, yes.” The coed smiled brightly and
gestured with her hand. “They’re set up down that hall. You can
check in there, if you’d like.”

“Thanks.” Sydney headed for the staff room,
one eye darting inside the pool area for a quick glimpse. She could
hear shouting and cheering indicative of a contest in progress. Her
heart kicked.
Was it Q’s race
?
Were they in there
?
She envisioned Clay rooting for his son, urging him on to the win.
She pulled her gaze away. But of course they were here. These
events were the reason they came to Miami. Turning away, she
switched gears and clutched notebook to breast. This was not a
pleasure trip. She was here on business. She cleared her throat,
refocused her thoughts and entered the staff room. The group
welcomed her in.

Ten minutes later she strolled out with a
list of requests. They needed everything from more water to extra
toilet paper. Nothing she couldn’t handle, but it meant she’d be
making a second trip here today. Should she peek in and look for Q
now, or wait? Circling back through the foyer she asked, “Where is
the schedule of events posted?” Every venue had one. Races were
organized by event number, including start time and athlete’s name.
She’d just look him up and see if it was an option.

The same girl looked up from her paperback,
opened about in half and directed, “It’s inside, just around the
corner. They’re posted on the wall.”

Sydney glanced in the direction she pointed.
Inside the pool area. “Thank you.” Ambling toward the pool, she
smiled absently at a man wearing an “I’m a volunteer” shirt as he
went toward the front door. Venturing further inside, she heard the
announcer calling out names for the next event. Unable to determine
which red shirts belonged to South Carolina, her gaze roamed the
area. Spectators assembled in clusters around the pool, found their
seats in the tiered metal benches and moseyed about the premises.
Athletes sporting wet heads and towels wrapped at their waist
strolled around in pool sandals, most smiling, several laughing. A
few had gathered along the wall to her right.