Game On

by Barbara Oliverio

  I was entrenched in editing some copy for Perry Kirk when my cell phone jangled.

  “Sammy! I mean Father Samuel” It was always difficult to remember to refer to my oldest brother by his official name.

  “Hey squirt.” And yet he had no problem reverting back to his childhood name for me. “Is your ringtone for me still the same?”

  “Of course. You played that song night and day when I was growing up. Why would I change it?”

  “Oh, no reason. I’m sure that a lot of people assume that when you answer your phone to an Erasure song, there’s a priest on the other end of the line.”

  “It’s not like it’s vulgar or anything. Would you like me to change it to a Gregorian chant?”

  “No,” he laughed. “But didn’t you always complain that the song was like a virus?”

  “I know. People around here will be humming it all day now and wonder why. What’s your point?” I asked innocently.

  He laughed.

  “No hope for you, baby of the family.”

  “And you are just discovering this, eldest of the family? So what’s up? I assume you didn’t call me to discuss music.”

  “Indeed I did not. I will be in town as a guest at a dinner on Saturday, so I was hoping you would be around if Ma gathers the clan at some point this weekend.”

  “Of course! I don’t get to see you that often.” Wait. I paused. Oh well. Anthony probably wouldn’t be in town this weekend, so the odds of running into him and Addison at my parents’ house was slim. I continued with more enthusiasm.

  “I’ll make it my priority.”

  “Fantastic. I know that Ma will call you as well, but I wanted to talk to you myself.”

  “I can’t wait!”

  We closed the call. I went back to work … humming that darn Erasure song. See? It WAS like a virus.

  Before I knew it, my stomach was rumbling. I glanced at my watch to see that it was well past the time I usually took lunch. I automatically reached for the phone to call Alek, but paused. After our awkward exchange this morning, would he want to go to lunch? Rapping my fingers on the desk, I debated. On the one hand, if I called and he thought he had emphasized that he didn’t want to hang around so much, he’d think I hadn’t heard him and would be convinced I was self-centered. But on the other hand, if I didn’t call, he might wonder why I was rejecting our usual lunch ritual. Then on the other hand … I was running out of hands.

  My dilemma was solved when Aguilar leaned back in his chair and ran his hands through his neatly shorn brown hair, giving out a tremendous sigh.

  “What’s up, Ag?” I asked.

  “Oh, nothing. I just can’t get this storyboard to flow.” He glanced at his watch. “No wonder! It’s time to eat and refuel the brain. Are you ready to hit the lunch buffet, Maisie?”

  That’s right! It was the day of the monthly lunch buffet, one of the perks of working at KDW. The caterers certainly would have it set up.

  “C’mon, Maisie,” Aguilar stood up and beckoned. “Let’s go before the animals in HR eat everything.”

  We both laughed. For some reason, HR was staffed mostly by people who were not known for their buffet-clearing habits. They were exceedingly happy when the lunch was a salad bar but vocally disappointed when it featured heartier fare. We were still laughing when we entered the conference room and the appetizing scent of meatballs and sauce greeted us.

  “Nonna’s Bistro from the Highlands! Awesome!” I lost my escort as Aguilar jumped ahead in line by inserting himself behind Perry Kirk, setting off a firestorm of mock anger. I avoided the ruckus and kept to the end of the line.

  “May I cut in?”

  I smiled inwardly and turned to greet a welcome face.

  “I guess I can make room for you.” Phyllis would give me poor marks for not adding a flirty wink to my smile, but I am just not a cutie-pie kind of person. I was, however, glad that I had chosen to wear my red swing dress with the allover pattern of cafe chairs. It struck a note of whimsy that I always enjoyed and always drew compliments.

  “Thanks!” Campbell’s eyes twinkled as he stepped in behind me. I glanced around to see if anyone caught the exchange, but everyone was too focused on their own rumbling stomachs to notice that station royalty was talking to mere me.

  “I was actually going to call you later,” he said.

  “Really? Why?” Just how squeaky did that come out? Come on, Maisie, get your head together.

  “I have tickets to the Beaus and Belles gala this Saturday and wondered if you’d allow me to escort you?”

  Fifteen-year-old-me nearly took control of my mouth and said, “Well, la-di-da. A gala!” Luckily, I was more mature than that.

  “That would be lovely! Thank you.” See Ma? I had learned ladylike manners, even though I was raised with a pack of brutes.

  “Fantastic! I’ll pick you up at six for cocktails. Text me your address.” He turned to leave.

  “Definitely. But wait, aren’t you going to eat lunch?”

  “I’m not really a fan.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  Not a fan of lunch? Or worse, not a fan of pasta? Unheard of. I’m sure my ancestors were turning in their graves. Well, to be fair, he didn’t say he didn’t like Italian food. Maybe he just wasn’t a fan of Nonna’s Bistro. On the other hand, the charming authentic eatery run by nationally known chef Alexandria D’Agostino was one of the only Italian restaurants that my family would even deign to eat in. I shook off the comment since I didn’t have all the details. Any minute and I would be reading as much into his lunch choice as Phyllis would with her crazy theories.

  “May I cut in?”

  Was today the day for all the men I knew to be randomly polite?

  “I’m surprised you just didn’t knock me aside and step in.” I bounced my hip against Alek’s. He bounced back and grinned. The look on his face was apologetic—and not just for cutting in line.

  “Look, Mais. I was out of line earlier. I—”

  “You don’t have to apologize, Alek. We all say things we don’t mean.” I had already decided to forgive him for whatever made him blow up.

  “Well, you didn’t deserve it. You know that I know you are a kind, generous person. Besides, you’re a good friend, and I shouldn’t have unloaded on you like that.”

  “That’s what friends are for. To unload on so that you don’t accidentally yell at someone who can fire you or something.”

  We had reached the breadsticks, so I took one and broke it in two, handing him the larger piece.

  “Truce?”

  “Truce.” He grinned and chewed.

  “One thing, though, Alek, and be straight with me. Were you really just busy taking those extra hours, or were you avoiding me for some reason? Have I done something to annoy you?”

  He took a long time to finish chewing and swallowing his bite of bread.

  “Define ‘annoy.’”

  “What!” I balled up my fist and mocked reaching up to take a swing. He grabbed my fist and pulled me close as we laughed. His face was always so joyful when he laughed. His phone hummed, and he still clutched my fist and held my gaze as he smilingly answered it with a cheery “Markovich here!”

  I don’t know who was on the other end, because his face changed and he dropped my hand as he turned to the side.

  “No, no. I’m available.”

  Huh? He hadn’t had time to eat yet.

  “Sure. See you in a few.”

  He turned back to me after closing the call. I tilted my head wordlessly.

  “Yeah. Um. Look, Mais, I gotta do a thing. I’ll text you later, and we can go over notes for the next game.” He started to move away.

  “Alek, you haven’t eaten. What? Where?” I stopped short of asking who was on the phone and why he had to dash out so quickly.

  Grabbing a couple more breadsticks, he shrugged and he was off.

  I mindlessly moved through the rest of the line and filled my plate, trying not to worry about wha
t was going on with my friend. Luckily, after I reached the end of the line, I heard a hearty whistle from the doorway.

  “Valenti! You coming with us to eat or what?” Perry Kirk blustered.

  I blew a breath, put on a smile, and answered, “Do you need me to show you how to twirl spaghetti again, Kirk?”

  The other guys guffawed, and I joined them on the way to what I knew would be a good-natured hour filled with friendly banter. I could always take time to speculate on Alek’s odd behavior later … if at all.

  19

  “All right, chickadee. Open your eyes and tell me what you think.”

  I took an extra breath before I followed her directions, but when I did, I blinked into the mirror and could only utter one syllable.

  “Wow.”

  I turned to Helga and asked a foolish question.

  “Are you sure that’s me?”

  “Of course!”

  I turned back to the mirror and leaned in. Days earlier, when I had told Phyllis I would be attending the gala, she offered the services of one of the hair and makeup technicians who she often contracted for her modeling jobs. Even though Phyllis would be out of town, she wanted to make sure that I had professional help to “dazzle everyone,” as she put it.

  Helga was a magician and managed to pull my chin-length bob in at my nape to make it look like an updo, leaving some wisps around my face. Looking at her own bold makeup choices, I was afraid she would overdo my face, but she did a great job. She gave me dreamy smoky eyes and vintage red lips. I was me … but more.

  “Thanks so much, Helga. I feel super glam.”

  “It was simple, hon. You have great bone structure. Let’s get you into your dress so we can see the whole look.”

  Changing from my ratty plaid shirt and ripped jeans into my cocktail dress was the finishing touch. Phyllis had nixed my original dress choice and dragged me shopping—against my will—for a new outfit. Now I was so glad we had done this. Phyllis knew me well enough to help me find something fresh and new but that stayed within my own personal brand. The satin bodice was softly pleated and overlaid with mesh, falling into a gathered satin skirt overlaid with tulle. I especially liked how the mesh on the bodice snaked up and around just one shoulder. It was a vampy red color, and we had found the perfect strappy red satin sandals to match.

  “I promised to text a photo to Phyllis when I was ready,” I said and handed Helga my phone to snap a shot.

  “Isn’t she on set at a modeling job?”

  “Yes, but she’ll want to see it when she goes on break.”

  No sooner did I send it, however, than I received a reply filled with a multitude of thumbs-up and kiss emojis. I shook my head and smiled. Phyllis must have had her phone tucked into whatever outfit she was wearing. I’m sure the photographer appreciated her whipping it out to send a text.

  Helga packed up and departed, leaving me a tube of the lipstick she had used to carry in my tiny red satin purse for touch-ups, admonishing me to only sit on the edge of a straight-back chair to avoid slouching or otherwise messing myself up until my date arrived. I gingerly followed her directions, but I was filled with nervous tension and found it difficult to only tap my toes.

  Fortunately, the doorbell rang within minutes. I restrained my normal urge to dash to the door, fearing that I would trip and fall on the brief journey. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door with a serene smile.

  Hubba hubba.

  If I thought he looked nice in regular work clothes, I was blown away by his formal look. Not for Campbell Casey the routine black tuxedo. No, he looked like he had just stepped out of a classic movie in his white dinner jacket with an elegant shawl collar trimmed in black satin. His perfectly tailored black trousers, black bow tie, and black cummerbund gave him a timeless look that screamed Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca or James Bond in any James Bond movie. And of course, the blond hair and piercing blue eyes just perfected the look.

  “You look beautiful, Maisie.”

  “I could say the same to you, Campbell.”

  “Shall we?” He offered both his toothsome smile and arm at the same time. “I have a car service waiting downstairs, and we don’t want to miss cocktails.”

  “Yes, let’s.”

  A car service. Of course. And I knew he didn’t mean Uber. I picked up my handbag and wispy silk wrap and put my hand through the crook of his elbow as effortlessly as if I attended formal events with model-perfect men who used car services every evening. In reality, I just wanted to turn to someone, anyone, and say “Can you believe this? Do you see me right now??”

  We made polite chitchat on the trip to the venue, and the driver deposited us at the main doorway of The Space, the premier event venue in Denver. Its exposed brick walls, sleek architecture, and unconventional lighting fixtures created an atmosphere of sophistication and coziness that lent itself to any kind of party.

  We walked into the cocktail area and spied a mélange of Denver’s society. I recognized those involved in the sports world and some in the news media, and was only vaguely familiar with other faces. Campbell went to the bar to retrieve beverages for us but did not return alone.

  For crying out loud.

  Calliope Newsome.

  “Maisie, you know Calliope, don’t you?” Campbell asked.

  Like anyone wouldn’t recognize that cascading curtain of red hair, those feline eyes, and that perma-smirk?

  “Of course.”

  I smiled what I hoped was a pleasant, rather than insincere, smile. Calliope, however, was barely capable of masking her true thoughts.

  “And how would I know you?” She tilted her head in a mock coquette manner.

  I counted to three and responded, “I’m a sports reporter at KDW.”

  “Oh. Associate reporter, though, right?” She knew exactly who I was.

  “Pleasure to meet you, Calliope.” I was only barely lying.

  “Calliope’s date was getting their drinks, so I told her to come chat with us while she waited,” Campbell said.

  Of course.

  “There he is now.” She waved over my shoulder. I turned to look. For a second, I stopped looking for him because I saw Alek walking toward us. I didn’t know he would be here!

  Wait.

  Noooooooooo!

  “Aleksander, come, come.” Calliope waved him over, but he stopped because he caught my eyes as they widened. Always polite, he pasted on a smile and continued on his path to join us.

  “Aleksander, do you know Campbell and Maimie?” Calliope asked.

  “Maisie,” Alek and I corrected her together.

  “So you do know each other?” She batted her eyes.

  “We talked about that, Calliope. Remember when you asked me to work the camera on your feature, and I said that I had the time because Maisie’s project was off for the week?”

  So this was who Alek was working with on his feature project. No wonder he didn’t want to talk to me who it was!

  Alek turned to Campbell and completed his introduction to him. Since neither man could possibly understand what was going on with someone like Calliope, they both missed the nuance of the little tableau we were enacting.

  Alek turned back to me.

  “Wow, Mais, you look great.”

  “You clean up pretty good yourself, Markovich. I have to say that this tuxedo looks a lot better than the one you wore to Betsy and Luke’s wedding.” He was in a classic notch-collar black tux that emphasized the beefcake build he had somehow acquired after college. With his Slavic features, he looked like he could have been the mysterious European spy in a classic noir flick.

  “Hey! That one cost a whole $25 at Goodwill. And I was a starving college senior, if you recall!”

  Just for a moment, our unease with one another snapped and we grinned, but immediately we were both back on guard as Calliope insisted on returning to being the center of conversation.

  “So you two have known each other for a while? Well, I guess I need to find some
stories about you, naughty Aleksander. Let’s go find our table.”

  She took him by the arm and began to walk away. Dismissing my outfit with a quick up-and-down motion, she was obviously happy with her own slinky black velvet strapless number that hugged every curve and was obviously a couture piece.

  “I’m glad you already know Aleksander,” said Campbell.

  “Alek.”

  “What?”

  “It’s Alek. No one calls him Aleksander.”

  “Oh,” Campbell shrugged. “In any case, it will make dinner easier. We’re sharing a table.”

  Oh yes, that will make dinner a lot easier. I rolled my eyes inwardly because I couldn’t think of one thing that would make it worse.

  “Maisie?” A familiar voice from over my shoulder. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them as I turned to find my brother Anthony. Was it at all possible that he was there with a random model or dancer? Oh, no.

  “Hello Addison. What a surprise.”

  “Maisie! You look gorgeous!” My brother hugged me gingerly, then pointed to Addison. “You know Addison, right?”

  My inner voice practically screamed: You mean the goddess next to you who looks like Princess Grace in a shimmering column of gold? Why yes, we’ve met, you dolt. I introduced you!

  “Hello Addison,” I said out loud instead. “Anthony, this is—”

  “Campbell Casey! Of course I know you. I think we met on the football field a couple of years ago.”

  They shook hands and started to relive a few college games.

  “You look lovely, Maisie,” Addison offered in measured tones.

  “Thank you, Addison. You are stunning tonight.”

  Her smile widened.

  Campbell and Anthony broke out of their glory days conversation, and Campbell smiled at me.

  “So Maisie, I didn’t know that Addison’s date was your brother. That will make our dinner table quite interesting!”

  Well, wasn’t that just jim-dandy. They would be at our table, too. If only my high school crush would show up, or maybe Pop and Ma, or Sister Marie from high school history class. That would be deee-lightful. Why on earth did I agree to come to this wretched dinner again? I could have been tucked up on my couch in my pajamas with a big bowl of popcorn bingeing on classic Super Bowl tapes.