Playing for Love

by Mel Curtis

  “And if you think you can pout and get Blue to take on Mimi’s assignment,” Amber pushed on. “You’re wrong. Every man Mimi meets wants to screw her brains out and she doesn’t seem capable of saying no. Put her in a room with Blue who doesn’t know the meaning of the word no when it comes to women and you’ve got trouble. Mimi didn’t come to us for sex counseling.”

  Blue’s narrowed gaze promised retribution, giving Amber a moment of regret.

  “What you both seem to forget,” Amber continued, shaking her finger at them and feeling like a crotchety old school teacher. “Is that we have no choice. We lost it the day we agreed to the terms of Dad’s will.”

  “I’m not a babysitter.” Cora crossed her arms.

  Blue leaned forward menacingly. “And I’m not your whipping boy. If two adults have consensual sex, there should be no problem.”

  “There is if one person works for the Foundation and one person pays us. There will be no horizontal fraternizing with clients.” Amber knew it was the right thing to say. Now she had to hold herself up to that standard.

  Cora eyed Amber slyly.

  Gemma clumped into the doorway. “Nothing came from Kent Decklin. But his agent, Cy Maxwell, is here.”

  “Show him in.” Amber got to her feet. She’d called Cy earlier this afternoon and requested a meeting. She hoped Cy had brought the things she’d asked of Kent. “Cora was just leaving and Blue has some studying to do. Meeting adjourned.”

  “Oh, and I made reservations at Panache for you, starting at seven.” Gemma clumped ungracefully back to her desk.

  Amber was perplexed. “For what?”

  “I arranged for us to meet a potential client there and offered a few of our latest clients the opportunity to be seen with you in the bar after dinner. I thought we could host some open sessions together. I hear Senge Tenzing generates new business that way.” Blue’s expression was unforgiving. Why wouldn’t it be? His flower was just as wilted as Amber’s in the Forgiveness garden. “But I think you can fly solo on this one.”

  Evan drove slower than usual up the final hill to his house. After more than four hours of basketball he was wiped out, ready to walk in and out of the shower and then fall into bed.

  Most of the team had come back to the gym to learn Evan’s Chaos offense. With their game tomorrow against the Lakers, they’d need every trick in the book. But not everyone was suited for Chaos. It was a run and gun offense that demanded trust in your teammates and required quick decisions. Ren, in particular, was struggling. At the very least, it would create more opportunities for Evan to score. For that he should be at least a little grateful to Amber for meddling.

  Thoughts of Amber sent a bump of adrenaline perking through his system, more potent than a shot of espresso. He’d said too much to her today, revealed too much about his past and appeared vulnerable. Real men didn’t so much as skate around their feelings. They kept them locked away.

  Amber would try to use what he’d told her against him in the future, try to manipulate him into abiding by her Rules. But Evan wasn’t about to abandon his plan to seduce her. He wanted her too much. And with sex came an unwritten rule of confidentiality – her reputation would be at stake as well.

  Keying the code to the garage, Evan accelerated up the driveway, narrowly missing Brock’s Lexus. “The only way this can turn out okay is if he’s shagging his wife inside and planning on going home later.” Otherwise, Brock was getting a black eye renewal.

  “Amber, so good to see you again,” Cy said, coming forward and giving her a hug and an air kiss while holding back a large manila envelope. The guy was Hollywood slick, from his lavender button down and faded designer jeans to his carefully styled blond hair and brilliantly white teeth. “How’ve you been?”

  Amber put on her chirpy, non-threatening voice. “I’ve been enjoying the company of your clients.” She had yet to ruin Evan’s bad boy rep. In fact, she was in danger of supporting it.

  “Mimi told me.”

  “You represent Mimi, too?” Who else did Cy represent? Blue would know. She’d ask when he decided to talk to her again.

  “Yes. She’s in high demand.”

  Amber’s proverbial cat claws flexed, but she refrained from comment as to what Mimi was in demand for. “Did you bring me Kent’s script and a list of his extracurricular activities?”

  “I did.” Cy gave a phony chuckle. “But I’m sure you’ll understand why I can’t provide you with a list of what Kent does in his spare time.”

  Amber didn’t have time for games. “We have a non-refundable policy here at the Dooley Foundation,” Amber began, not quite stifling her inner bitch. Her life would be so much easier if Kent dropped out of the program. “Tell Kent I’m sorry we couldn’t help him.”

  Cy studied her carefully. “Having you as a life coach is very important to Kent’s career goals.”

  “I’ve already provided him with one photo opp. I’m sure he’ll milk that for a week or so. Perhaps you can get him signed on for his next project before the buzz dies down.” Amber’s cell phone rang. It was Trina. Regretfully, Amber hit the ignore button and vowed to call her friend later to break their dinner plans again.

  “One photo opp isn’t enough. We’ll need at least two more,” Cy countered. “Kent also wanted you to help him get his part as Drew down.”

  “That would require me possessing that list you’re clutching so tightly.” Amber didn’t need Kent’s script any longer. Using his entertainment contacts, Blue had gotten her a story outline earlier.

  “Why get so personal?”

  Although the idea of sabotaging Kent appealed, Amber was more interested in the long term success of the Dooley Foundation. “Do you remember when Kent was shooting Belief is Stronger than Doubt?”

  “Back when you were dating him?” Cy’s lip curled slightly, unwise when dealing with a woman as close to the edge as Amber.

  “Yes.” Amber’s tone dropped to icy levels. If he wanted to play big bad experienced businessman to Amber’s inherited CEO position, Amber had one surprise in her arsenal guaranteed to knock Cy off his pedestal. “His character was a war hero who couldn’t read. Because he couldn’t get work, he became a gigolo. Until he met a woman who recognized his problem.” Charity Case. Amber’s fingernails bit into her palm.

  “That movie earned Kent an academy nod.”

  “Only because Kent could barely read himself.” Amber held up a hand when Cy would have interrupted her. “I found out he couldn’t read when my father asked me to help him with his lines. While we dated, I helped Kent improve his reading skills.” What a bleeding heart she’d been back then. “After seeing Kent’s performances since then, I’ve realized Kent is a method actor. He has to live and breathe the part to make it real – whether it’s putting stars in the eyes of his latest girlfriend or beating the crap out of terrorists. If he doesn’t live the part, he can’t bring it to life.”

  Cy considered Amber’s words in silence for so long she expected him to disagree with her. “Isn’t telling me this giving away Foundation trade secrets?” Cy finally asked.

  “I’m only telling you so you understand why Kent has to limit his lifestyle to succeed in a role. But as I said, our fees are non-refundable.” Ha! “You can mold Kent into Drew yourself if you’d prefer.” Amber couldn’t stop what felt like an evil grin splitting her cheeks. “Of course, you’ll need to move Kent to a farmhouse for the duration of the shoot. Preferably one with no electricity, no paparazzi and no Mimi Sorbet. From what I know of the story, it’s a period piece and Drew discovers he’s bi-sexual at the end of the film.”

  “Oh, my God.” Cy’s professional façade cracked. Eyes a bit wild, he mussed his perfect golden locks. “Are you saying…?”

  “That you’re taking a gamble with this one. Kent will be as conflicted about the role as he would be in real life. You and I both know Kent is as shallow as a kiddy pool, susceptible to forces around him. His long term Hollywood career – and your paychec
k – would be uncertain.”

  “He’s dropping out of the film today.” Cy hesitated only a moment before scooting his chair closer to Amber’s desk. “I’ve got a number of other projects on tap for Kent. Perhaps you can give me your opinion – ”

  “As long as we both agree – no refunds and no more coaching for Kent. I’m happy to leave him in your hands.”

  The unspoken question between them was – would she do the same for Evan?

  Chapter 32

  “What do you want?” Blue demanded when he realized it was Amber calling him later that night.

  “I wanted to tell you that things went okay at Panache tonight. And by okay, I mean no one told me to my face I was full of hot air.” She’d played the role of nurturing mother hen for each client, listening to their problems, talking about controlling and sharing feelings and letting the universe know what you wanted from life. All of which seemed to work. For now.

  The evening made it clear – Amber needed more tools if she was going to help their clients and lead the Dooley Foundation to solvency. Amber had to mend fences with Blue and show him Dooley’s artwork. So she’d taken all the pictures off the walls and set them up on the living room furniture, ready for Blue’s review. “Can we talk?”

  “I thought I wasn’t pulling my weight.” Blue’s words were coolly controlled.

  “I called you out, Blue. I’m sorry. I was upset.” Amber drew a deep breath. “But I’ve found something and I need to show it to you and get your opinion.” Two weeks ago that statement would have killed her.

  A woman laughed in the background. Blue laughed along with her.

  Amber got the feeling she was interrupting something of the bedroom variety, which made her request that much more awkward. “Can you come over?”

  “Now?”

  “It’s not that late.” Ten o’clock. By L.A. standards the night was young.

  Blue covered the phone and said something Amber couldn’t hear. “How about in an hour?”

  “Thank you.” Amber sagged against the kitchen counter. “You won’t regret it.”

  “I’m sure I will.” More feminine laughter. And then Blue hung up.

  Amber had some time to kill before Blue arrived and then more time before red hat made his nightly ding-dong ditch raid. She took her water pistol and a bowl full of water balloons out to the backyard for some target practice.

  Evan sat in the dark on an angled bench in his weight room nursing a warm beer while he stared out at the lights of the valley. In the media center in the corner a T.V. displayed Evan frozen mid-shot in a game against Denver. The digital clock read eleven thirty, but he couldn’t sleep, nor could he concentrate on reviewing his game film. His body was weary, as if someone heavy sat upon his chest. It was Amber’s fault. She occupied his thoughts to the point of distraction.

  Was Amber out there somewhere with Kent Decklin? And why in the hell did he care?

  He didn’t care. That’s how he’d survived all those years with his dad. That’s how he shut his father’s voice out of his head and played on – first as a practice player for Seattle and then a starter in the overseas leagues. He’d been indifferent to those around him and successful, if his stats were a measure of success. But he’d never been the unstoppable force of nature he’d been at UCLA, not until he found his niche on the asphalt courts of streetball.

  Admittedly, Evan had expected the magic of his college career to materialize for him in the NBA. He was doing everything right – concentrating on his game, training hard, keeping personal relationships to a minimum. Except for Amber, he was focused, a well-oiled basketball machine.

  The door behind Evan swung open. The light from the hall created a reflection in the window, such that Evan could see Brock lean against the doorframe with a beer.

  “This room freaks me out.” Brock flicked on the light. He’d had a bucket of chicken and a six-pack of chilled beer waiting for Evan when he returned today.

  The peace offering was so unexpected, Evan hadn’t kicked Brock’s ass out.

  “I knew you were a cold-hearted bastard.” Brock took a few tottering steps inside. “But, dude. Dracula?”

  The close-up poster of Bela Lugosi as Dracula was the only thing displayed on one dark gray wall.

  As if drawn by Dracula’s hypnotic stare, Brock walked unsteadily to the poster. “Now there was a guy who sucked the life out of everyone around him.” The big man belched.

  Evan didn’t bother turning around or dissembling. Brock had chased whiskey shots with most of the beer. It was highly unlikely that he’d remember his own name tomorrow. “Dracula embraced his destiny as an outsider. He was feared, respected, in charge. And he kept his women in line.” Hint, hint.

  “Heartless bastard. I can see why you like him.” Brock did a Texas two-step as he turned, trying to stay on his feet. “And him?”

  Evan didn’t bother looking at the poster of Christian Bale’s Batman standing silhouetted against a stormy sunset on the opposing gray wall, his shoulders bent with the burden of his role in life. “Batman knew when he was a kid that he had to go it alone.”

  “His choice.” Brock shuffled past Evan to lean his forehead against the glass, although he probably didn’t see anything in the night now that the interior lights were on. “The bat was pussy whipped.”

  “He wanted to protect her,” Evan countered, frowning.

  Oddly silent, Brock drew a dog-eared photo out of his pocket and ran his thumb over the faces there. “When we were at UCLA I thought the fans loved you. They wore jerseys with your number and waved signs about the Candy Man. But their love wasn’t real. I wouldn’t trade places with you for anything, because the bat…he lost the girl anyway. He’s a loner, but he’s also lonely. A man on a team of one.”

  Evan’s head felt heavy and his ears buzzed.

  Photo still in hand, Brock pushed away from the glass. “So that’s your big secret? You’re a misunderstood hero? Or a blood sucking villain?”

  When Evan was a kid he’d related to Batman. The father he’d known and loved was long gone. Alive, but lost to him. In school, friends were kept at a distance for their own protection and to guard Evan’s secret – that his father took out every one of his frustrations on Evan’s hide. When Evan arrived at UCLA, he experienced freedom. His father only showed up at games and the coaching staff soon learned that it wasn’t wise to give Evan’s dad a seat near the Bruins’ bench.

  On the other hand, when Evan was on the court, he related to Dracula. The dark prince was decisive and ruthless. No doubts and no regrets for the fang master.

  And now? Amber’s face swam before his mind’s eye. The pressure in Evan’s chest became all encompassing.

  Evan stood, needing space. “I’m going out. Don’t wait up.”

  Minutes later, Evan was cloaked in the Ferrari, hugging curves as he flew toward the valley floor.

  “What’s wrong?” Amber demanded when she picked up the phone. The sound of her voice was soothing, which annoyed him.

  “Nothing.” Evan hadn’t realized he’d been heading toward Amber’s house until he called her. Was she the beacon to his bat? Or his prey?

  Get a grip, Oliver.

  “Nothing?”

  The road straightened out, widened. Evan sped from the glow of one streetlight to the next. “Are you home? Still awake?”

  “Evan.” Amber sounded exasperated. “Why did you call?”

  Was Amber trying to get rid of him? She threw him off balance, leaving Evan mumbling weak excuses like a little kid. “Brock and I had a fight.”

  “Oh, my God. Did you hurt him?”

  She was concerned for Brock? Evan shifted into fourth gear as he hit the 405 freeway ramp, sending his head jerking back from the thrust of speed. “No.”

  Her voice softened. “Are you hurt?”

  “No.” The grip on his chest eased. Evan waited for Amber to invite him over. He was minutes away. She was home. It was nearing midnight on Friday, perfect timing
for a private walk on the cliffs of heaven.

  Amber gasped. “Oh, no you don’t.” She chuckled, a throaty sound of a woman pleased. And then she quietly bid Evan good night.

  “Amber? Amber?” But she’d disconnected, leaving Evan wondering: who was there with her? The obvious answer was Kent Decklin.

  Blood ran raggedly through Evan’s veins. He gripped the steering wheel tighter.

  A real man wouldn’t continue driving in the right lane if it was already occupied. He’d weave and move to the left, choosing an alternative course to score.

  Evan stayed in the right lane, accelerating, veering to the left only to pass.

  His father always said Evan wasn’t a real man.

  Right before Evan called, Blue had texted Amber to let her know he wasn’t going to make it tonight. She’d been in the middle of preparing for that little red hat prick, so Blue’s visit would have been a wash anyway, but Dooley’s pictures were still on display on the living room furniture.

  Then when Amber was on the phone with Evan she’d heard someone drive up in front of the house. It was nearly the witching hour, the same time her door knocker had been abused the last few nights after someone discovered the doorbell no longer worked. The outside lights were off. Five softball size water balloons were loaded in the crystal bowl near the unlatched front door, right next to her water pistol.

  Her trap was perfect, except…She’d forgotten to turn off the living room lamps. Amber hurried to darken the house, pausing to turn on a small light above the stove in the kitchen. She waited several long, silent minutes.

  Finally, a car door closed.

  Heart pounding, Amber crept toward the foyer and palmed two water balloons. She thought she heard a soft tread on the front walk.

  Amber elbowed the door open and hurled her balloons one after the other at the figure nearly on the porch. With a satisfying double splat, Amber hit her target and reached for more ammo.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” That voice. Deep. Angry. Familiar.