Playing the Game (36 page)

“Mr. Dennis, what is your recollection of your first meeting with Ms. Monet?”

“We officially met at the Tribute to the Celtics benefit for the first time. But we almost met earlier at the TV studio. That’s why I approached her.” Barry’s words were clipped and unsentimental. He never looked her way. “I attempted to seduce the woman, but discovered she was wearing a wedding band. I thought she was married. So I left.”

“Subsequent to that, what made you think she was not married at the time?”

“I told you …”

The detective abruptly cut him off and turned to Roxanne, putting a hand on her shoulder. He spoke in a commanding, cop-like voice for the first time. “Wait in the other room, Ms. Monet.” He gestured to a door.

She rose and walked from the room. A pair of uniformed policemen escorted her down the hall. She sat on a hard wooden bench in the cold lobby, absently wondering what happened to Al. She wondered what the detective might put Barry through, worried in spite of his betrayal. She refused to think about any implications that might reach Lindy. One thought loomed large in her mind, hanging over everything else and almost smothering her: if Barry harbored any doubts before about ending their relationship, it was clear those doubts were eradicated by this episode. He was probably grateful now that she ended their game. Not Roxanne. She wished she’d never started it.

Chapter 18

TO DESCRIBE Al as angry with the police when he arrived and found that Barry had been questioned without him seemed inadequate, Roxanne thought. But she felt relieved at his presence, even though it changed nothing. She continued to sit on her bench, feeling like the plug that had kept her electrified with tension had been pulled out of its socket. Al insisted on listening to the recording of their interview and Barry joined her in the lobby to wait. They sat in silence.

Al finally emerged, bidding the detective good night and happy New Year, then stopped when he reached them. “No harm done. At least not in a legal sense. But I imagine you both must be stretched from the ordeal.”

She couldn’t stand for him to give her sympathy. At least not where Barry was concerned. She stared back at him and stood.

“The only thing I feel is thirsty. And tired of being in this place. Let’s go.” She started walking toward the door with Al and Barry followed behind. They both got in Al’s car. He volunteered to drive them back to the Garden

“So they came for you at the Garden?” Al eyed Barry.

“Yeah. Can’t wait to see the papers tomorrow,” Barry said, as he stretched out in the front seat.

Roxanne sank into the back seat. “Oh it’ll be nothing. They’ll sling a few innuendos—every one they can invent. Then they’ll contrive a few accusations, make you look guilty as hell and put the article next to a wonderful smiling picture. No need to be concerned. Happens to me all the time. I’m still here.” Roxanne turned toward the window and stared into the darkness, wondering how this would all seem to one little girl lying in the hospital right now.

“Look, don’t think because you’ve already lost your job—and your work at the hospital—that a little more bad publicity can’t hurt you. It influences people, and police detectives are people too. Besides, I don’t know if you care, but it could have a very adverse effect on Barry’s career. I talked to his agent tonight. Some newspaper reporters called him. He’s livid,” Al said. He looked at Barry. “This kind of publicity could affect your marketability. More importantly, it will affect a decision on custody. Since you haven’t stuck strictly to the schedule, you’ve made yourself vulnerable in an otherwise straightforward situation. You are in damage-control mode right now. You need to be at that hospital every day. And you absolutely have to stay away from Roxanne.”

Al glanced at Roxanne in the rearview mirror. She met his eyes and looked away, knowing what he was about to say next.

“And you must absolutely stay away from Lindy.”

She knew he was right. She stared out the window and didn’t bother to wipe the tears that formed in her eyes. She didn’t care if they knew.

Al continued. “Don’t worry about her. We’ll see that she’s told it’s a temporary situation and that she knows you’re not a murderer.”

She choked back a sob. Then she took a deep breath. She could use a shoulder to cry on, but since she didn’t have one she’d better buck up. She turned back to her window of blackness. Neither Barry not Al said another word. She could feel Barry’s tension even through her desperate hope. Needy, desperate hope.

Al drove up the ramp into the Garden and they got out in silence. Roxanne immediately turned and headed toward her car.

“Roxanne, wait. Why don’t I meet you back at your house? We can talk, “ Al said.

Barry stood there, a tired shadow of his game face in place.

Barry was disgusted with himself for not being able to walk away without hearing her answer.

“No. There’s nothing to talk about tonight. Call me when you hear from Detective Turner.” She turned and looked up at Barry. “Is that what you were waiting to hear?” she said.

“Do whatever the hell you want. Go with him.”

“Dennis, this is none of your God damned business. Leave her alone. I’m sick as hell with your attitude. Who the hell do you think you are? Damned right she can come with me if she wants …”

“But she doesn’t want to.” Barry flicked him a glance with a raised brow, then he turned and walked to his car, wishing he’d never got up that morning. He wondered if he should still bother to meet Dave and the women. He checked his watch. It was five of midnight. “Shit,” he said out loud to no one. He punched the code on the Caddy door and opened it.

He felt her presence and turned to find Roxanne standing there.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” She asked.

“You’re still early for a midnight kiss. I have about five minutes to meet my friends. Besides, there still may be some press lurking around here and you’ve already gotten me into enough trouble for one evening.” He looked at her. He knew his tone was angry. He didn’t feel very angry. Not at her anyway. He wanted to kiss her. To wipe that wounded look off her face that had been there all night since the police had arrived.

He’d never worried about her before, and he shouldn’t be starting now. Especially not now. It was hard enough for him to realize that he’d gone over the line and he had to get back. He couldn’t afford this. Lindy couldn’t afford this.

“I’m referring to the money.” She paused and it sank into his head. She wore an impatient frown, her arms folded across her chest.

“Oh yes. How could I forget? That’s what this is all about. My damned money. You didn’t get enough of Don’s and now you need mine? And I foolishly thought you wanted me …”

Roxanne swung her black-gloved hand and slapped him hard across the face. The blow turned his head and it also made him realize what the churning emotions inside him were all about. At this moment, he hated this woman with a fierce intensity.

And he also loved her with equal intensity.

He stood, marveling, as he tasted the blood in his mouth. She stood and stared at him with a very unkind expression. He was on the blade of that famous double-edged sword of love and hate. And he knew which side he needed to end up on.

“Who should I make the check out to? The hospital or you?” He reached into his jacket and withdrew his checkbook.

She watched him, unblinking, and he thought he heard her swear under her breath before answering him.

“You could make it out to me, but then you wouldn’t get a tax break.” Her tone did not match the lightness of her comment. She continued to stare.

He took a breath and wrote her name. “I don’t know why. You’re such a worthy cause after all. How much?” He asked her with his pen poised above his checkbook. He couldn’t understand his desire to mock her until she broke. He felt pain and a drive to destroy at the same time.

“Seven hundred fifty thousand dollars.” She tightened her jaw and compressed her lips, and if it were possible, hardened her stare at him.

He whistled at the amount and wrote it on the check. “You’re worth it. But you owe me. Want to start tonight?” He handed the check to her.

She took a quick glance at it and then tore it into tiny pieces and let them drop in front of him. “You bastard,” she snarled, then turned and almost ran to her car.

There was absolutely no humor in the chuckle he heard coming from himself. He’d hurt her. He’d wanted to. But there was no pleasure in seeing her pain after all. In fact, he was finding it was very painful for him too.

Barry arrived at the Bay Tower Room too late. It was after midnight and the champagne had been let loose everywhere, along with confetti, streamers, noisemakers and a general hullabaloo of celebration. This was the first time he could remember in recent years that he’d entered a room in public without feeling like he was wearing a neon sign that attracted everyone’s attention. The novelty of being anonymous felt as good as it did strange.

The maitre d’ showed him to his party and it was distinctly less cheerful at that table than the rest of the normally subdued place. Until they saw him.

“How did it go? We’ve been speculating all night. I don’t mind telling you I’ve been fucking concerned. Short money said you’d be locked up,” Dave said. He stood and gave him Barry a hearty handshake and a wary smile.

Barry grinned back, touched by Dave’s concern. He sat down.

“Well?” Vicki asked.

His date studied him, probably didn’t know what the hell to expect next.
What should she expect?
he asked himself. What was he doing with her? Of course, that prompted thoughts of Roxanne, which caused a distinct tightening of his muscles and tension in his head. Roxanne was to him like the Rubik’s cube to a moron—a tempting but insoluble puzzle.

“No problem. The police are investigating, but I think in the end they’ll find there was no murder. And that’s the end of discussion on that topic for the evening, if you don’t mind.” He grinned at Karen Marie Callahan and she responded nicely.

“But that woman, Roxanne Monet? What’s your involvement with her?” Karen Marie insisted on asking with a wary smile that told him she needed to be reassured. He considered what to say to satisfy her when Dave answered for him.

“Fund-raising business with Children’s Mercy Hospital. She volunteers for them. She’s gotten friendly with Lindy.” Dave paused and nodded at him. “I assume that’s going to end under the circumstances?” Dave’s expression turned grim.

“True.” Barry picked up the half-filled glass of champagne in front of him and raised it in a mock toast before draining it. It was very difficult to drink with his throat constricted with tension, but he forced it down anyway. Lindy was not going to take this well. He’d avoided thinking about that confrontation until now and he wished he could avoid thinking about it until tomorrow. Then he’d have to talk to her about it.

Grabbing the open bottle of champagne, he determined he’d give forgetting a hell of a try and poured himself another glass. “Now can we close the subject?” He looked to his date and raised his glass again. “Here’s to our enjoying the rest of the evening.” He smiled and took another long sip of champagne, looking the woman over more closely. He needed relief tonight and he was hopeful.

“Great game tonight Mr. Dennis.” A passing waiter paused long enough to comment. That was a step exactly in the right direction and Barry took it and held onto that thought.

“Wasn’t it, though?” He grinned without modesty. The women made faces and Dave laughed with pleasure. Inevitably a discussion of that night’s game ensued and the women excused themselves to the powder room.

“Yeah, tonight’s game was just about perfect,” Barry said.

“Yeah. The whole evening would have been perfect if Roxanne Monet hadn’t shown up. What the hell was she doing there tonight? Dragging the police along with her. Was she trying to set you up or what?”

“No. I told her to stop by. To take care of some business.” Barry fingered his empty glass, and then he looked up at his friend. “I promised her some money.” He knew the inevitable conclusion his friend would draw, that Barry had purposely lead him to draw.

“What the hell are you doing? You’re not going to let her soak you, are you?”

Barry had known what Dave would think and what he would say. But when he heard the words, they sounded harsh, as well as untrue. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t believe the insinuations about Roxanne being a gold digger and murderer. As much as he didn’t want to, he had to defend her.

“No. The money’s for the hospital. She’s not soaking me for money. I’ll send her the check tomorrow.” He paused and watched Dave take this in. He knew the very lack of insistence in his voice was what convinced Dave. Then he found himself continuing. “She’s innocent, you know.” He leaned forward in his chair and this time his voice was insistent. “And if I can help her, I will.” There was defiance in his voice but he knew the opposition would not come from Dave. It would come from himself.

“And I thought you two were just playing games,” Dave said.

Barry’s eyes zeroed in on Dave’s at the mention of games. But how could he know? It was an innocent comment.

“Yeah. Well you know how I like to win—no matter what the game.” He grinned with more brightness than he felt.

“Lately I’ve noticed you seem to want to win those games a hell of a lot more than basketball games. Until tonight anyway.” Dave shrugged.

“Damned right until tonight. You’re looking at a new man. It felt good tonight. Damned good to play like that. I think I forgot how good it felt.”

“Feel better than her?” Dave asked. Barry felt as if his mind had been read. The thought put him on edge and he had to tell himself to calm down.

He smiled at his friend and slapped him on the back as the two women returned. “You bet.”

“What have you guys been talking about?” Karen Marie asked. Barry answered quickly.

“About what a great game we played tonight, of course. And about how it’s a better feeling than a woman.” He looked at her with purposeful challenge in his stare.