Crazy Thing Called Love

by Molly O'Keefe

  “I’m not saying you can’t do it; you can. You could be great on this show. But not like you’ve been the past week. You need to think about that before the pitch meeting.” She pulled her papers into a stack and slapped it against the table, lining up all the edges with one sharp bang. Maddy flinched. “Now, let’s go get a drink.”

  “I think … I think you just insulted me, Ruth. I’m not sure I want to get a drink with you.”

  “I know.” Ruth winced. “I’m not very good at this friend thing. But I think you could probably use one—a friend, I mean. And a drink, too. And I know I could. So? Drink?”

  Now, this was weird.

  But weird was okay. Weird might bring her one step closer to being happy. At least with weird she might feel something.

  “I thought we were friends once,” Maddy said.

  “I know.” Ruth nodded. “But let’s try again. For real this time.”

  For real. How funny those words sounded. How true.

  Maddy stood. “Let’s do it.”

  The next day when they were pitching to a table full of executives, Maddy stood in the middle of a storm. A whirlwind of branding and promotion. Marketing and editorial meetings. Richard sat at the top of the conference room table, his face illuminated by the yellows and greens of the new logo, flashing bright and beautiful across a PowerPoint presentation.

  She watched his every facial reaction, knowing that a frown would signal that this new effort of theirs—the blood, sweat, and tears that she and Ruth had put in over the last week—would die before it even had a chance.

  But there were no frowns. There weren’t any smiles, but there also weren’t any frowns.

  She and Ruth exchanged panicked looks as Ruth turned on the lights and everyone blinked like owls in a barn.

  “Nice work,” Richard said and Maddy watched Ruth let out a deep breath. But Maddy had the sinking feeling they weren’t out of the woods yet.

  “Billy’s your first guest?” Richard asked.

  “We can tape on the new set on Monday.”

  “And after that?”

  Ruth listed the other guests they’d contacted.

  “We could just as easily have them on the old format,” Richard said.

  “But the new format—”

  “Loses money in advertising dollars,” he said. “And costs in promotions. You want me to double the budget—”

  “Just for the next few months,” Ruth interrupted.

  There was more discussion, but Maddy heard it from a great distance. This was it, her dream dying.

  Connect, she thought. Maybe he just didn’t feel the connection. And that was her job.

  “Maddy?” Ruth said, her tone pinched. Her eyes had that wide help me out look.

  “It’s this format or I’m out,” she said, surprising even herself. “Let’s stop informing our audience, Richard. They get information everywhere, the Internet, magazines, and their friends. Let’s educate. Let’s entertain. Let’s change lives. Let’s matter to the people of Dallas, in a way that isn’t just weather and traffic. Let’s make an impact.”

  How about that for a fight!

  But blank looks greeted her around the table.

  Oh, what a mistake. What a giant, career-ending mistake. She looked over at Ruth, her friend with a drinking problem, and to her great surprise Ruth winked.

  “Me too, Richard,” she said. “This is the show, or I’m out, too.” Slowly Richard pushed away from the table and stood.

  “Then this is the format.” He looked around the room, at all the folks from PR and marketing, legal, and HR. “Let’s make it work.”

  Richard left and everyone in the room filed out, people walking by Maddy and shaking her hand. Congratulations all the way around.

  She accepted them all, feeling like she was floating three feet off the ground. It had worked. It had actually worked.

  “You’ve got big giant brass balls,” Ruth said when the room was empty.

  No, Maddy thought, I’m just looking for a reason to care. A reason to give a shit about my life. Billy blew it apart when he came back and nothing was ever going to be the same, she couldn’t pretend that it would.

  “Yours aren’t too shabby either,” she said.

  “Let’s get to work,” Ruth said. “You want to contact Billy, or should I?”

  “You.”

  Ruth didn’t audibly sigh, but it was there just the same. “Maddy?”

  She wanted to be oblivious to the concern, but she’d spilled the whole damn story yesterday, halfway through the third round of vodka sodas, so Ruth knew everything about her and Billy.

  “Just … you talk to him.”

  “You know you’re going to have to interview him, right? Talk to him for, like, an hour?”

  “I know,” she said, and she also knew she had no idea how she was going to make it through that.

  Sunday morning Billy was putting syrup on Charlie’s toaster waffles when Victor called.

  “You little minx,” Victor said. “Going behind my back to talk to Hornsby.”

  Billy slapped the syrup top down with his palm before putting it in the fridge. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

  “Damn right you’re sorry. But Hornsby and the GM want to have a meeting with us.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means you’re not dead yet.”

  Billy watched Charlie eat the waffles, shoveling them in two pieces at a time, syrup running down his face. He bounced in his chair, more excited than anything to have another bite.

  I used to feel that way about hockey, he thought. A million years ago. Before the scar. Before I was really any good at it, I just wanted to play. Just play.

  And he wanted a chance to play that way again. “Let me know, man. I’ll do whatever they want.”

  “Billy? Billy Wilkins? Is that you?”

  “It is. But there’s some other stuff going on you should probably know about.”

  “What’s the story with AM Dallas?”

  Ice settled over his body, the ice he was going to need to survive tomorrow morning.

  “I tape the show on Monday.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Yep.”

  “And Dom?”

  “I’m going to talk to him tomorrow afternoon.”

  “And what’s … ah … what’s happening with the kids?”

  “We filed the paperwork on Friday,” he said, running his hand over Charlie’s hair. His pinky got caught in a giant clump of syrup. Billy was going to have to take this kid out back and hose him down. “We just need to wait and see.”

  “You’ve been busy,” Victor said, recrimination in his voice.

  “I know, man, and I’m sorry I didn’t call, but some of this stuff I had to handle on my own.”

  “I understand. But from now on, let me do my job.”

  “Happy to, Super-Agent Man.” They said goodbye and Billy hung up.

  “Where’s Becky?” Charlie asked for about the hundredth time.

  “She’s sleeping.” Billy had checked on her just a few minutes ago, half expecting to find an empty bed and a curtain fluttering in the breeze from an open window, but instead she was sprawled out over half the bed. Snoring.

  The last five days had been like that. He didn’t want to think about how long it had been since she’d slept through the night.

  And the thought that she was catching up on it here, under his roof, made him content.

  “Can I wake her up?”

  “Nope, buddy. After breakfast we’re going to the bathroom.”

  Charlie got mutinous. His little face screwed up tight. Bathroom wasn’t anything he liked discussing. “Diaper.”

  Billy reached under the counter for the candy he’d bought yesterday. “Not if you want these.” He lifted the bag of M&M’s and Charlie looked sideways at it.

  “What are those?”

  “Bribes. Come on, Charlie, let’s go pee like big boys!” He corralled the unhappy,
sticky three-year-old and headed for the bathroom, feeling for the first time in years like his life was heading somewhere. Somewhere good.

  “Are you nervous?” Becky asked as she and Charlie sat backstage while Billy got his makeup done. He was glad that Gina was taking care of him and not that other girl, the one who had been so eager with the mascara.

  “No.” He lied, his leg bouncing, the fabric of his gray slacks shimmying with the motion.

  Becky slapped her hand on his knee and he worked harder to bounce it. She laughed and pressed harder to hold it down, until Charlie joined in and suddenly the two of them were holding his leg down, laughing.

  This was the strangest game, but they seemed to love it.

  A little over a week with Becky, and her laughs were becoming a common occurrence.

  “Hi, guys.” It was Maddy coming around the corner, and he stiffened. Jerked actually—the sound of her voice was like a knife to his throat. Becky stood, staring at Maddy like an angry guard dog.

  Charlie, who was three and clearly had no loyalty, ran over to Maddy to hug her legs.

  She wore a red dress with a purple belt at the waist and purple high heels that made Billy want to hug her legs, too.

  The pain that came from looking at her was nothing new. He’d ached for her since he was a kid. But there had always been something sweet tempering it, a hope or an understanding that made the ache bearable.

  There was nothing making it bearable right now. Her beauty cut him to the bone. And so he looked away.

  “How are you guys doing?” Maddy asked.

  “I peed in a potty!” Charlie cried. They were tempting fate by going without a diaper today, but that’s what all the websites told him to do. Whole hog.

  Maddy seemed suitably impressed.

  “How about you, Becky?” Maddy said, coming to stand closer to the girl, who shrank back, her guard dog look turning to a sneer. The thirteen-year-old had picked up on his feelings and maybe she was hurt herself because Maddy hadn’t called once over the last week. Ruth had been the one to contact him with all the details about the show.

  “Fine,” Becky said.

  “Your hair looks great,” Maddy told her with a tentative smile he remembered so well from when they were kids. Like she was sidling up to something that might rip her hand off at any moment. That’s how she used to look at him.

  Becky was totally impervious.

  “I brought you something,” Maddy said, pulling a book from behind her back. “I just finished it a few weeks ago. It’s about killer horses.”

  Becky’s head came up and Billy realized that with all the fun they’d been having—the Chuck E. Cheese and the potty training and the swimming—he’d forgotten about things like books. He’d forgotten that Becky really liked them.

  He tried not to think about what a team they could be, he and Maddy.

  “You can take it,” he assured Becky. He wanted to tell her that she wouldn’t be betraying him, or herself. That being angry because she was hurt would only hurt her.

  Talk about a lesson he could learn.

  “Thanks,” Becky said and took the book, opening it immediately.

  “Are you ready?” Maddy asked him and there was something slightly eager about her smile. Something hopeful.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be to talk for an hour.”

  “It’s more like thirty-eight minutes, actually.”

  “Why doesn’t that make me feel better?”

  She reached out to put a hand on his shoulder and he flinched away. There had to be some rules if he was going to survive this.

  “Please, Maddy,” he whispered. “Have a little mercy.”

  She clenched her hands together, holding them still. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Sorry, he thought, getting angry despite himself. Fuck your sorry. “Yeah. Me too. I’ll see you out there.”

  He pulled Charlie close, the kid clambering up into his lap like a monkey. For a moment it all registered on Maddy’s beautiful face—she was on the outside and she was cold and lonely and miserable there and he wanted to reach for her. To welcome her in.

  All the family he’d ever need.

  But it wasn’t worth it. He knew the pain her lack of faith brought.

  “I’ll see you on the set,” he said.

  Maddy composed herself and walked away.

  Around the corner from the dressing area, Maddy stopped. She stopped and leaned against the wall, her knees liquid, her lungs cramped.

  Oh my God, she thought. What is wrong with me?

  Billy was okay. She’d broken his heart again and he was okay. And the kids … oh, the kids, they looked so good. The last week had changed them. Billy had changed them. Just like he’d changed her.

  Sabine came walking past. “The audience is arriving,” she said. “They seem pretty lively. Lots of excitement.”

  Maddy didn’t care. She didn’t care about any of it. She’d fought for this new job, this new show, and it was good. She was proud. But looking at Billy, at those kids … she realized exactly what she’d thrown away. The chance to have everything.

  She could connect all over the place, with the guests, with her audience, with the stories. She could be amazing at her job but part of her would continue to die. Just like it had been dying for fourteen years without Billy.

  No, she thought, trying very hard to stem the tide of these thoughts, to convince herself that allowing the possibility of pain back into her life was tantamount to getting hurt.

  But something different was happening in her body, something beautiful and strange, painful and sweet. Like spring.

  Faith was returning to her. After a fourteen-year-long winter, faith was fighting its way free from the dark mud she’d buried it in.

  In a riot of color it exploded into her heart. Into her body.

  Purples and reds and oranges.

  “You okay?” Sabine asked.

  Maddy stepped away from the wall, her knees rock solid, her lungs working. Her heart making plans her brain struggled to translate.

  “No. But hopefully I will be.”

  Sitting in front of the live studio audience Billy was plenty nervous, but what was really freaking him out was Maddy.

  She was sweating.

  As Billy got mic’d during the first commercial break, a girl came out and powdered Maddy. But the sweat was still there.

  “You’re doing great,” he said to her, and she glanced up from her cue cards.

  “You think?”

  “Yeah. The new style, it’s … great.”

  It was true. The music and set, the logo. The live audience was responding to all of it. Responding to her.

  But Maddy didn’t seem like a woman who was reaping the rewards of her hard work. No, she seemed like she was about to jump out of a plane or something.

  He glanced offstage to where the kids sat. Becky had her head buried in that book Maddy had given her and Charlie was mastering another level of Angry Birds. Beside them sat Gina, who gave him a thumbs-up.

  Billy had warned her about the no-diapers situation, but she’d volunteered to take care of them anyway.

  “We’re on in five,” Peter said.

  Billy took a deep breath and ran his hand over the white shirt Becky had chosen for him.

  “I love you, Billy,” Maddy said, and he spun to face her.

  Oh, she was a mess. Sweaty and panicked.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, his stomach replaced by a storm of nerves.

  “I’m not sure.”

  The red lights came on the cameras and they were live.

  “Billy, walk us through that fight at the end of the last Mavericks game,” she asked. So far, so good. Five minutes in and there hadn’t been any more surprises, and whatever freak-out Maddy had been in the middle of seemed to have passed. He still felt jittery with adrenaline, waiting for some kind of ambush.

  “I … I was angry. I was angry that our team had played so hard and still lost. The guys are y
oung but they’ve got so much heart and they were coming off that ice beaten. You know? Defeated. And I was defeated. I had a crappy season last year, which was all my fault and I had no one to blame but myself. And, well, sometimes a fight can cheer you up better than anything else.”

  “So you fought to make yourself feel better?”

  He smiled. “I never said I was very smart.”

  Her eyes snapped and he remembered how she hated it when people called him stupid. Even him.

  What’s going on? he thought.

  “You have a history with fighting, though.” She leaned forward in her chair, her whiskey eyes sucking him in. When she looked at him like that the studio audience fell away and he tried to resist, but he knew it would make for a better show if he followed her lead.

  He’d had this plan to keep himself removed. To just barely answer the questions. To do his part and then get the hell out of there.

  But she’d been so sweaty.

  And the I love you thing. Was it another trick?

  “It’s a part of hockey,” he said with a shrug. “I think the culture is changing, though.”

  “Do you think it should?”

  “You know, I might be putting myself out of business, but yeah, a fight is one thing—two guys, center ice, agree to drop gloves; fine—but the guys that play dirty … there’s no place for that anymore. We’ve lost too many guys to crap like that. The crap I used to do. It’s got to stop.”

  “You played dirty. That cheap shot at the end of the last game.”

  “You’re right.” He nodded, taking full responsibility. “And I don’t want to play that way anymore.”

  “Even before hockey you had a history with violence.”

  Here we go, he thought, unable to believe he was going to talk about his childhood … without mentioning her. It was ridiculous. He couldn’t even look—

  “I grew up with Billy,” she said, turning to the audience, and his mouth fell open. “In fact, many people don’t know this, but for about five minutes about a million years ago, Billy and I were married.”

  The crowd gasped, murmurs rippling through the room. Cell phones were pulled out of pockets—the news of their marriage was going to be all over the world in less than a minute.