Tango in Paradise (26 page)

“Mom … Mom!”

The man turned forward again, finally breaking
their locked gazes. Elaine blinked. She took a deep, cleansing breath, trying to regain her equilibrium. The world came back into focus.

The bright lights of the Vet blazed down on the field, illuminating the players. The crowd’s cheers were suddenly deafening, the salty odor of popcorn and the sweet scent of soda overpowering. People all around her were on their feet, screaming at the top of their lungs.

Curt had struck out another one.

She grinned at her son, who was cheering and hugging Cleo. She knew he would die a thousand deaths before he hugged his own mother in public. Cleo was different.

“Bottom of the fourth, and my boy’s coming up!” Cleo announced proudly.

“If Lenny Dykstra really was your boy, we’d have the story of the year,” Jean said, chuckling. She was tall and angular where Cleo was short and busty.

“I couldn’t be his mama!” Cleo laughed with glee. “Lenny’s Mr. Excitement. Whenever he’s at bat, he gives me that sexual high.” She belatedly put her hands over Anthony’s ears. “You cover your ears, baby, you’re not near ready for this. But, oh my, if my Luther were still alive, I’d be saying ‘Get ready, Luther, tonight’s your lucky night!’ ”

The three older widows erupted into laughter. Anthony grinned. Elaine, normally used to this banter, found her face turning red because of the man in front of her.

“You hush up and watch, Jean,” Cleo added. “We’re down one run, and Lenny is about to tie it up.”

“He better,” Mary muttered, the beads moving through her fingers at record speed. “If someone doesn’t break this game open soon, those you-know-what Braves are going to win.”

It was odd how she had come together with these women, all of whom were in their sixties, Elaine thought. They had met years ago right here in this row, when Anthony had been little. She hadn’t had an interest in the game at the time; she’d come for her husband’s sake. But they had become friendly with their seat “neighbors.” Mary’s husband had already passed on after a long illness, so Elaine had never met him. Jean’s husband had died from a stroke the year after they’d met, and four years back Luther’s heart had given out suddenly.

And then her own husband, Joe, had died, long before he should have. It had happened a little over a year and a half ago. Joe had gone out for bread and milk, and someone had run a red light on Route 70 when Joe had been crossing. She had been left with a house with a too big mortgage payment, a young son, and little insurance.

The women had been staunch support then, and she often felt she had been blessed with three extra mothers. Cleo, Jean, and Mary hadn’t given up their season tickets after their husbands’ deaths because they were true aficionados of baseball.
Elaine had continued going to the games for Anthony at first, because the boy needed men to look up to, men who could show him man things, who could show him that hard work and dedication paid off. A baseball team he had idolized all his short life seemed a good place to start. She had had to learn the finer points of the game for her son’s sake, and slowly she’d become a true fan.

Jean had started calling them the Widows’ Club, and Elaine had evolved into a chauffeur for them all. With this season opener at the Vet, she sensed something big about to happen with the team, and it had infected her. Baseball. Springtime with the all-American pastime. Somehow the combination had pushed itself into her soul, and at that moment, nothing was finer.

It had to be the game, she told herself, because it couldn’t be the man in front of her.

To her horror, Cleo leaned over and tapped both “suits” on the shoulder. “You boys better be watching this, or you’ll miss the play of the game.”

“But he’s down two strikes already!” the younger man said in disbelief to Cleo.

Cleo sniffed. “That’s just part of Lenny’s show. He’ll work that count to a full one and make that pitcher throw ten times, just trying to get him out. Wears those snotty pitcher boys down and gets them off the mound early.”

“Here endeth the lesson of the day,” Mary said.

“Amen to that!” Jean added.

Elaine looked for heavenly salvation herself,
because mortification of the flesh was already guaranteed. Those three were in rare form tonight.

The younger man made a face. The older one just shook his head. Elaine resisted the urge to dump her soda all over them. Cleo was only being friendly, which was more than she could say for those two—even if one was sexy as hell.

The tension in the stadium built to a fever pitch as Lenny Dykstra sent several pitches foul into the stands and passed on a few more, until his count was three balls and two strikes, just as Cleo had predicted. A few more pitches went foul as Mr. Excitement lived up to his name. Elaine forgot about the man sitting in front of her. She forgot about “suits” in general … and her name, her job, and other vital pieces of information as her exhilaration level built with each pitch. She squeezed her soda cup, threatening to overflow the contents, grabbed Jean’s hand with her free one, and thought her heart would burst through her chest as she waited for each windup and pitch. It was going to happen, she thought, feeling the truth of it in her bones.

The Sure Thing.

She suddenly understood Cleo’s need for Luther, because her whole body was thrumming with anticipation, her blood whirling hot along her veins. She was desperate for something to relieve the growing sensuality … for someone …

Her gaze dropped to the disturbing man in front of her. To her shock, he turned around at that
very moment as if her body had called to his. If his first stare had sent her spiraling, this one catapulted her into dizzying heights as her body responded to the physical attraction she felt toward this man. She couldn’t look away, couldn’t focus on anything but him.

The man broke the gaze as the smack of wood against leather was heard over the stadium roar, as a ball was hit with tremendous force. Elaine looked up in time to see the little white ball sailing back … back … The outfielder ran to the warning track … his arm was outstretched … he jumped right at the wall …

The ball sailed over the right-field fence into the Phillies bull pen. A home run.

Elaine screamed and leaped to her feet, flinging her arms up with joy. Just as she did, she realized she was still holding her soda cup, and the soda inside was taking a leap of its own. She watched in fascinated horror as it moved in almost slow-motion time out of the cup and into the air, the dark liquid spreading out in a kind of wall twinkling with crushed ice. The soda hit the man in front of her with a solid splash, and the world, which had been frozen for that one terrible instant, suddenly returned again in all its loud noisy glory.

The man yelped and jumped to his feet, soda dripping down his head and the back of his suit jacket.

“Omigod, omigod!” Elaine exclaimed, grabbing up her napkins and rubbing at his hair and
back. She could feel her face heating with embarrassment and wondered if she was getting psychic in her old age. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry!”

He pushed her hands away as she rubbed the already soaked napkins to shreds. People around them were laughing and cheering, half for the batter jogging around the bases and half for the entertainment she had just provided. Her three female companions were roaring with laughter. Even her son was giggling.

“I’m so sorry,” she said to the man. Her face was burning now. “I feel awful. I’ll go with you to the rest room, where I can sponge the soda off.”

“You don’t put water on an Italian silk suit, you stupid idiot!” the younger man yelped, waving his hands. “I can’t believe you ignoramuses here. They ought to charge more for seats so we get a better class of people at the games.”

“Shut up!” Anthony burst out, stepping in front of Elaine as if to protect her. “That’s my mother and it was an accident!”

Tears sprang to Elaine’s eyes at her son’s action. She forced them away, knowing he’d be humiliated if she started to cry because she was proud of him.

“The boy’s right, it was an accident,” the older man said. To Anthony he added, “I’m sorry for what Ed said. Don’t worry about what happened.”

Ed looked about ready to swallow his teeth, every pearly one of them. “But, Graham …” He stopped and turned to Elaine, a look of disgust on his face. “I’m sorry.”

Elaine said nothing to him, wishing she could crawl into a hole. Anthony, too, had been made to look childlike with the adult interference.

“Thanks, Anthony.” She squeezed his shoulders gratefully. Her son was her height now, a fact that brought itself home to her in a poignant way even in this weird situation.

An usher showed up at the commotion, and the man Graham explained that some soda had been spilled, no problem. The usher left and people began to sit down again.

“Please,” she said to the man before he turned away. “At least let me have your suit dry-cleaned for you.”

“No. That’s all right.” He sat down, his back to her.

She couldn’t blame him. Cleo sniffed, while Jean made a face. Mary’s rosary clacked. Elaine took a deep breath and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned, staring at her.

“Really, I want to make amends,” she said. “Let me take care of this for you.”

He shook his head and turned back.

She reached into her hip pack and took out a twenty. She tapped the man on the shoulder again. He whipped around. She waved the money in his face. “Here. This should cover it.”

The younger man snorted, clearly indicating that what she offered was far short of the price the cleaning would cost. Elaine wondered just how much one paid for an Italian silk suit to be cleaned.
Did the silk from Italy have some special property that defied normal dry-cleaning methods?

“Thanks for the offer,” Graham said, “but I can take care of my own dry cleaning.”

His voice wasn’t unpleasant, she mused. In fact, it sent a slight chill down her spine that had nothing to do with the April night air.

“No. I insist.”

“Lady, look, it’s not necessary.”

“It is.” But short of stuffing the money into his pocket—and that thought made her fingers tremble—she didn’t know what else to do. Then an idea occurred to her. She dug into her hip pack again, while saying, “I have a friend who owns a dry cleaners in Malvern. She can handle your suit, I’m sure. She does a lot of executives out that way. Here’s her address.” She finally dug out one of the business cards she carried for her friend’s establishment. Taking the pen Jean was using to keep score and ignoring her squawks at being robbed, Elaine scribbled on the back of the card before holding it out to him. “Nancy owes me a favor, so she’ll be glad to do your suit for you. I’ll call her tomorrow and let her know. The address and phone number are on the card, and I put my address and phone number on the back in case you have a problem, but you shouldn’t. Really, I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t take care of your suit for you. Please let me do this.”

The man stared at her for the longest moment. Elaine had an awful feeling she’d just grown a second
head. He had a great ability to skewer people with his gaze, she thought. So had Dracula. And just like Dracula, he exuded a subtle sensuality. She could feel it swirling through her, as if he were actually undressing her. More years than she cared to count had passed since the last time she’d felt this way with a man. Other women could handle themselves sexually, but after fourteen years of marriage she was out of practice.
Way
out. And the game was so different at thirty-seven than it had been at twenty.

She shoved the card at him to break the trance. He took it reluctantly.

She smiled in relief. “Nancy does nice work. You won’t be sorry, I promise.”

He turned forward at last. Elaine slumped in her chair, feeling as if she’d just been let out of prison. She resisted the urge to fan herself. Poise was a better defense.

Opening day was full of surprises, she thought, and not all of them with the team.

Graham Reed sat in misery. Cold soda had wormed its way under his jacket and shirt, chilling his skin. The cool night air didn’t help. Worse, the liquid left a sticky feeling on his scalp and neck. He, a basketball man, was at a baseball game, a sport for the unskilled as far as he was concerned. Ed Tarksas squeezed him in on his right, and a
complete stranger continually rubbed against him on the left.

And behind him sat a beautiful maniac.

Maybe “beautiful” wasn’t the right word, he thought. He had been aware of the woman sitting behind him ever since he’d taken his seat, but hadn’t bothered to turn around until her screaming outburst. And then he hadn’t been able to look away.

She wore a Phillies baseball cap low on her forehead, and the way her ponytail swept along her shoulders, curling just at the ends, so dark in color it was almost black, reminded him of a young girl’s. His fingers had ached to touch it, to feel it twine around his hand with its own vitality. Large hoop earrings of thin gold hung elegantly from her ears, combining with the cap for an incongruous look that somehow worked on her. Her face wasn’t model thin, yet her cheekbones were noticeable and her skin was smooth, creamy, with a touch of color from the night’s chill. Her lips were full, intriguing, and he’d found himself wanting to taste them, to see if they would meld perfectly with his. Her figure was covered up in a sweatshirt jacket and jeans, but he could tell it was an attractive one. He judged her to be in her mid-thirties, a time in life that gave her maturity and experience … and a latent sensuality. He could sense it, he could see it, and he felt as if he’d been walloped by a two-by-four just from looking at her.

The boy alongside her was enough like her in
coloring and features to mark him as her son. And although he didn’t need anyone to pay for his dry cleaning, he had to admit he liked her insistence on making amends. That said a lot about her as a person. And he liked the way the boy had come to her defense. She had stared him down, and stared down Ed, so she was hardly in need of any defending, but the child’s gesture said a lot about her as a parent.

Still, a child. He and children didn’t mix well, so he avoided women who had them. Of course, it didn’t matter in this case; she had to be married.