“It’s business, Madelyn. Nothing personal.”
Nothing personal? Oh my God, it was almost funny. Ruth had no idea what she was talking about. Because between Billy Wilkins and Maddy Baumgarten, it was all too personal.
“Fine, but I’m not helping you. You want him. You get him.”
She walked out, hoping that was enough. Hoping that the proud, selfish, childish boy she’d known was still living in that terrifying man she’d seen at Crooked Creek. Because the Billy she’d been married to would never agree to do this show.
“We’ve talked about this before and the answer is still no.” Billy should have known that his best friend’s girlfriend had ulterior motives when she asked him to help her paint.
“I never pegged you for a coward, Billy,” Tara Jean Sweet said as she cut the corners around the door with her white paintbrush.
He didn’t dignify the insult with a response. Even if it was the stone-cold truth.
Painting was not Tara Jean’s strong suit—there was white primer all over the trim, floor, her hands, her shirt—but she was gung-ho and Billy appreciated that.
“I’m reminding you of your civic duty. You have to go.”
“I gave you a bunch of money, and I’ll keep giving you money. You don’t need me at some fancy party.” Billy worked his way across the wall with his roller, trying to repair the worst of TJ’s mistakes.
She threw her hands up, splattering primer across the floor. “Do I have to remind you that this school was your idea?”
“No. You don’t. I’ve had the idea about the school for a long time, but that’s all it was—an idea. You’re the one who went nuts and hired consultants and started working on charter applications and fund-raising stuff.”
“Because it’s a great idea, and you’re a great advocate for it. For crying out loud, Billy, you convinced Luc and me to commit to a charter school with a sports focus. Over beers. Imagine what you could do in a room full of people ready to spend money.”
Tara Jean was a sweetheart, but this determination she had to see the best of him was getting a little old. “No one will believe it, TJ. Me, funding a school? I’ll put people off.”
“What bullshit.” She turned back around and started priming the wall with a vengeance. “You’re going. Like it or not. And you’re getting a new tux and because you’re being so dumb about all of this, I might even make you give a speech.”
“TJ—”
“Did it ever occur to you that Luc and I might need you there? As a friend. The foundation is new and we’ve never done anything like this before—”
“Okay.” He held up the brush, knowing when he was beat. If she was going to play the friend-in-need card, he had no defense. “I’ll be there. Whatever you need.”
She radiated pleasure. “I knew you’d see it my way.”
Talk about a snow job. He rolled his eyes at her, just so she knew he was on to her. Oddly, though, he was not all that upset. He’d given his share of money and time to charities over the years, but he’d never been attached to something so big, something so … personal from the beginning.
The New School. The name was lame, but he hadn’t come up with it.
Truthfully, he was amazed at how far Tara and Luc had taken this idea he’d had in his head for years. Though, considering the way Tara Jean was railroading him, he was sort of surprised she wasn’t the governor of Texas by now.
The phone in Billy’s back pocket vibrated and he dragged it free, wincing when the scabs on his knuckles broke open again.
“I’m not paying you to talk on the phone.” Tara Jean eyed him sideways.
“You’re not paying me at all.” Billy sucked on one of the cuts. “In fact, I urged you to pay someone else.”
Her blond ponytail, speckled with white paint, shook as she laughed. He totally understood why Tara Jean wanted to paint her own house despite having Luc Baker’s fortune at her disposal. She had never had a house before and she intended for every inch of it to be her own. Including the paint on the walls of the living room.
The phone buzzed again and he glanced down. Relief that it wasn’t Hornsby made him answer a bit more cheerfully than he usually would have.
“Hey, Super-Agent Man,” he said.
“Do I have the wrong number?” Victor asked.
“Very funny. What’s up?”
“Well, clearly paying thousands of dollars in fines and being suspended for the first four games of next season agrees with you, Wilkins,” he joked.
“I’m just hoping you’re calling with a big time endorsement deal. Surely someone wants my face to sell something.”
Tara Jean scowled at him before walking out of the room to give him privacy. She didn’t like his jokes about his looks—a little squeamish, clearly.
“No, actually, but I do have an opportunity for you.”
Billy returned the roller to the tray at his feet and turned around to face the window. Luc and Tara Jean had bought a pretty farmhouse on an acre of land outside of Dallas. The stream in the backyard was surrounded by big cottonwood trees, perfect for a tree house in a few years. And that stream actually had fish in it.
Maybe he wouldn’t teach Luc how to fish after all. Then he’d have an excuse to come over and spend time with the kids his friends would one day have. He smiled at the thought, even as he rubbed away the stabbing ache in his chest.
Upstairs there were four empty bedrooms just waiting for kids to fill them with all the crap kids came with. Diapers and toys. Little shoes. Bikes.
It was a house with a future.
A million years ago, he’d wanted that kind of future. Fishing, tree houses, painting rooms, a pretty woman to boss him around.
In fact, Luc’s life was a lot like the life Billy had had in the palm of his hand.
Until he’d ruined it.
And now he only had visitation rights.
“What’s the opportunity?” he asked. He wasn’t all that interested, but if it could fill some of his empty off-season hours, that would be good. Though with his reputation and looks he couldn’t imagine what opportunity would come looking for him.
“A morning show wants to give you a makeover,” Victor said.
Billy laughed. “You’re hilarious. Be serious, man.”
“I am serious. A producer called my office wanting to talk about doing a four part series on you.”
“A makeover? Have they seen me?”
“They have. And it’s sort of a lifestyle makeover. Manners, clothes, they want to do a cooking segment, an anger management—”
“I hope you told them to fuck off.” Billy turned away from the window as his temper started to simmer.
“I didn’t, Billy—because, frankly, you could use something like this.”
“Like what? Public humiliation? No thanks.”
“It doesn’t have to be humiliating. It could actually be humanizing. You could show the rest of the world the softer side of Billy Wilkins.”
“I don’t have a softer side,” he said, thinking of that fight last week. With both hands he’d thrown away the last year of his career, because he’d been mad. Because he’d felt insulted.
“What are you doing right now?” Victor asked.
“Helping paint Luc Baker’s house. Tara Jean wanted to do it herself and doesn’t have the slightest idea how to hold a paintbrush.”
“So you decided to help a friend.”
“Yeah, but—”
“That’s soft, Billy. And people would love to see that.”
“Bullshit, Victor.” He groaned. “No news show—”
“It’s AM Dallas, that morning show on …” Billy heard Victor flipping through his notes over the sudden pounding of blood in his ears.
AM Dallas. Maddy. That was Maddy’s show.
“Is Madelyn …” What the hell was her name? Cornwall? No, that wasn’t right. Cornish? That was it. “Is Madelyn Cornish still on that show?”
“I don’t know, man, I don’t watch this stuff.”
“Tara!” Billy yelled and she ducked back into the room. “Is Madelyn Cornish on AM Dallas?”
“Yep,” she said.
“I’ll take the meeting,” he said to Victor. There was a moment of stunned silence. “Victor? You still there?”
“Yeah, I’m just … surprised. Hornsby is going to love this.”
“I don’t care, I’ll still take the meeting.”
“All right, I’ll set it up and text you the details.”
Billy hung up and looked back out the window, his chest heaving as if he’d run six miles at a dead sprint. There was a good chance Maddy had some very public, very vindictive and humiliating revenge plan in the works.
“Billy?” Tara Jean stood in the doorway. She was beautiful, blond and stacked, blue eyes that could eviscerate a man with one glance. But to Billy, she was a poor second to Maddy Baumgarten on her worst day. And he’d seen that day. Caused it.
“You all right, Billy?”
Fourteen years ago he’d ruined everything. They were supposed to be a family—that was the promise they’d made to each other, and he’d broken it. Smashed it under heavy, callous heels. Because he hadn’t known how to keep that kind of promise.
But he’d had some practice now. He thought of Luc and Tara Jean, all the guys on the teams he’d played with. He knew more about what it meant to be someone’s family, the two-way nature of it.
Despite what had happened, how they’d crashed and burned and failed each other and hurt each other, all these years later, when he thought of family—real family, not his parasitic sisters, not his messed-up parents—he thought of Maddy.
Of her arms around him at night. Her strength and support.
“Let’s get back to work,” he said, stepping up to the empty wall and the paint.
“You know, if something’s bothering you—”
“Don’t you go all Oprah on me too, Tara.”
He could feel her watching him, debating whether or not to press the issue, but then she sighed and went back to messing up the trim.
“Why did you ask about Madelyn Cornish?” she asked.
“I think I’m going to do her show.”
Billy smiled when he heard TJ’s paintbrush clatter onto the hardwood floor. She swore, using the edge of her Toronto Cavaliers hockey T-shirt to clean it up.
“I told you we needed drop cloths,” he said.
“Billy, you always said those shows were humiliating.”
“They are.”
“Then why do it?”
His past, particularly the part about Maddy, was such ancient history he never talked about it. No one ever asked. A childhood failed marriage wasn’t interesting to the sports journalists, who only cared about his penalty box minutes. And the guys on his team didn’t even know.
But suddenly her name was on his lips again and it felt so good. It brought the worst of his past back to him, but it also brought the best.
It wasn’t a mystery that he’d lost part of himself when she left. The part that cared what other people thought of him. The part that wanted to be worth something—namely her.
And with her absence, he’d pushed away what was left of his family, his friends from back home. His childhood. Because he couldn’t stand his past without her there to make it tolerable.
When he finally ruined what had been left of them, she took his future, his past, and the best of him with her.
“Maddy and I grew up together, down the street from each other actually, and we … we used to be married.”
Tara Jean’s mouth fell open and he held up his hand, stopping the barrage of questions he could see coming. “We were like ten years old and I … I ruined it.”
“What did you do?”
“Not your business, Tara. I’m sorry, but it’s not.” It was Maddy’s business and he knew that she’d kept it a secret, so he would, too.
“So is she just going to ask you questions? Or have you play hockey with kids? What?” Tara asked, looking small—but never frail—in her boyfriend’s big T-shirt. He remembered Maddy like that, the sight of her brown legs under one of his T-shirts the hottest thing he’d ever seen.
“A … a makeover. Teach me how to dress, how to act. That sort of thing. She’s gonna shine me up for Dallas.”
Tara’s eyes narrowed and he knew how it sounded, how the show would be debasing at best.
“You gotta admit, it’s good TV and the Mavericks’ PR folks are going to love it.”
“Billy,” she sighed, her eyes so sad on his behalf, which was sweet, but unnecessary. She had no idea how much he was looking forward to this. To seeing Maddy again.
“Don’t worry about me, Tara,” he said, spreading the last of the primer over the wall. “I can take care of myself, and if Maddy wants to humiliate me, I owe her that.”
Tara Jean nodded and went back to priming her section of the room. In that silent moment he thought about his future and how, when you least expected it, the past came all the way back around.
Dressed up like a second chance.
The photo shoot for the spring promo was in full swing. Gina had done miraculous work, and when Madelyn looked in the mirror she didn’t even recognize herself. She looked perfect. Airbrushed but breathing.
Which was exactly how you wanted to look when you were going to be on a billboard overlooking the North Central Expressway.
The blue Calvin Klein dress fit like a second skin from her chest down to her knees. Ironically, when she had stepped out of the changing area, Gina had clucked her tongue and told her she was too thin.
“What do you want?” Gina had asked in response to Maddy’s incredulous look. “I’m Italian, part of me just wants to feed you manicotti until I can’t see your hip bones.”
Madelyn had thought about manicotti for a good twenty minutes.
“Less teeth, more eyes,” Jerome, the photographer, said over the Beyoncé song on the sound system.
“Can we kill the wind?” she asked, doing exactly what he’d requested, closing her lips and smiling with her eyes, which were getting dried out from the fan blowing in her face.
“Yeah, let’s try a few that way,” Jerome agreed.
She tilted her head back, shifted her hips forward, crossed her arms, dropped her arms. She smiled. She looked serious. She laughed, tipping her hair back off her shoulders.
On the table next to the yellow and green screen they were shooting against, her BlackBerry rattled into her bottle of water.
All work stopped. Such was the power of a buzzing BlackBerry.
“Just a second,” she said and Jerome nodded, already reviewing the digital shots they’d taken.
The latest message, from Ruth, bloomed on the screen.
Billy Wilkins meeting tomorrow morning after the show. 11:30.
Her own Brutus hadn’t even had the decency to stab her in the back in person.
In a sudden panic, she began to sweat and it was so hard to breathe. So hard to pull in air past the anger and hurt that rolled through her.
Oh God, she thought. I’m going to be sick.
Forcing herself to calm down, to close her eyes and open her lungs, she yanked away the negative emotions like they were leeches.
The emotions belonged to the old her, stupid Maddy Baumgarten, the fool. The idiot who’d cared about Billy Wilkins despite his casual cruelty. Who had given him everything, only to be repaid in regret and embarrassment.
You are not that girl, she reminded herself. She’d shed that persona like a too tight skin. Lost all that irrelevant guilt and concern and worry, just like the twenty extra pounds she’d sweated off since divorcing Billy.
Losing the girl she’d been for twenty years hadn’t been easy, but it had been necessary.
“Jerome?” she said, without looking up. She wasn’t sure she could, her muscles felt frozen. Her entire body chilled to the marrow of her bones. “You get what you need?”
“Actually, I’d like to shoot a few more with the yellow
backdrop.”
Good. Great. Work would keep her focused. Work would remind her of who she was and, more importantly, who she wasn’t. Work had pulled her from the black hole her divorce had sent her into, it had given her a new identity that had nothing to do with Billy Wilkins. With that useless girl she’d been.
As she stepped back under the lights, the blue of her dress glowed.
Every morning in this city people woke up needing weather and traffic and morning banter. Women sat down with their coffee, looking for a distraction from their screaming children. The population of Dallas was hungry to learn how to redecorate on a budget, find a pediatrician or make the perfect summer cocktail.
And they looked to Madelyn Cornish for all of that.
The girl outside that hotel room door fourteen years ago didn’t exist anymore.
Thursday morning Madelyn was Patton, leading her morning show troops into battle. Joe the Cameraman’s segment about racing through a local Target trying to get all the stuff for a spring break trip was funny and sweet. Every time the man opened his mouth, the female studio audience audibly sighed.
Bringing him up in front of the cameras had been one of their finer ideas.
Even the snake segment went better than expected. A reptile company was going to be touring local schools next week and AM Dallas had brought them in to air their highlights. The owner was so engaging and exciting that Madelyn didn’t have to pretend to be scared, or get pooped on, just to make it interesting.
“Nice show,” Joe said when the lights went cold.
“Thanks, Joe, and thanks for taking one for the team with that shopping segment.”
“I’m not kidding, Madelyn, I’m too old for that shit.” Tough as his words were, he grinned while he said them, his soft white face creasing into likeable wrinkles. “If it weren’t getting me laid—”
She covered her ears with her hands. “No no no no, I can’t hear you, Joe.”
On the run, Madelyn grabbed her post-show water from Ramon. She guzzled it as she headed toward her office. There had been a snake around her neck for the last twenty minutes and she wanted to shower, change, and re-do her makeup. Before meeting with her ex-husband in half an hour.
“Good show,” Ruth said as Madelyn turned the corner from the studio, toward the offices.
Crazy Thing Called Love Page 4