The Player's Club: Lincoln

by Cathy Yardley

  “If she doesn’t thaw out a little,” Juliana muttered darkly, “I’ll help him.”

  “I just wanted to talk to you for a second,” Terrence said to Heidi, his face flushed, and he pushed his bangs away from his face. He was actually pretty cute, in a geeky sort of way, Juliana noticed. Given a few weeks, she could probably turn him into someone Heidi would look twice at, but Juliana figured it’d be wasted on the cold, haughty woman. “You seem to be doing well,” he observed, with a shy smile.

  “I am,” Heidi said. Then silence dragged out. Terrence shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  “That’s great,” he splattered. “Um, seeing anybody?”

  Her smile was catlike and cruel. “Engaged.” She showed the engagement ring, a rock. “He’s a lawyer.”

  “Sorry. I’m sure he’s nice anyway,” Terrence said earnestly, and Juliana choked on a laugh as Lincoln glared at her.

  Terrence cleared his throat. “Anyway, I don’t mean to invade your dinner, or take up too much of your time, I just…” He took a deep breath. “I just wanted to tell you that I had a huge crush on you in high school. You were so beautiful, and you always smiled. You always seemed so happy. Driving you home that one day was one of the high points of my miserable high-school existence, and I never forgot it. Or, um, you.”

  “Thank God,” Lincoln muttered. “It’s over.” He took a long draw from the beer.

  Juliana’s eyes never wavered from Terrence and Heidi. Over? Oh, no. She knew better.

  “Really?” Heidi said, her voice shocked. “You came over here, just to tell me you had a huge crush on me in high school?”

  “Um, yeah,” Terrence said.

  “Wow. That’s…well, kind of sad, isn’t it?” Heidi shuddered. “Really…um, a little creepy.”

  Lincoln, Tucker and the few other embedded players in the restaurant snapped their gazes on her, uniformly pissed, Juliana suddenly noticed. Meanwhile, Terrence looked like a bunny in a rifle’s crosshairs, frozen as he sensed danger.

  Juliana stood up. “This is a train wreck,” she hissed to Lincoln.

  She rushed to the ladies’ room, peeling off her sweater hastily, tucking her glasses in her purse, pulling her hair out of the dowdy bun and touching up her lipstick in about two seconds. Not her best work, but she’d improvised. With determination, she strode back out to the dining area, using her very best sex-on-stilettos strut. She walked up to Terrence just as she heard Heidi say, “You know, most guys just message me from Facebook. How stalker do you have to be, to find me when I’m having an early dinner by myself because my fiancé has an absolutely huge case and couldn’t make it. And then to tell me that you’re still…”

  “Hey, sexy,” Juliana said, kissing Terrence’s cheek. “Miss me?”

  Terrence blinked. He probably could not have been more shocked if he’d been shot. Heidi stopped mid-catty-expression, her eyes popping wide.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt,” Juliana continued, shooting her best oops-naughty-me expression at Heidi. “He said he saw someone he knew. Are you a friend?”

  Heidi nodded dumbly.

  “So’m I,” Juliana said, with a wink.

  “Aren’t you…are you Juliana Mayfield?” Heidi asked, dumbfounded. “From the supermarket tabloids? The one who dated all those guys…that football player…Gerard Butler?”

  Okay, I wish that rumor were true! But Juliana just smiled. “I wouldn’t have thought anybody who knows Terrence would read that crap,” she said, then repeated the playful naughty look. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…am I interrupting, really?”

  Terrence had bounced back, and stood up beside Juliana, putting an arm around her waist. She snuggled in, trailing her fingertips down his Jedi T-shirt. “You’re not interrupting,” he said, his voice deeper, more confident. His smile was actually a bit sexy, and Heidi seemed to notice. “I just hadn’t seen Heidi in a while, and thought I’d say hi. Glad we could catch up.”

  “Well, come on, babe. We’ll be late.” She started to tug Terrence away. She thought they were clear when Heidi opened her mouth.

  “He was just telling me how much he was in love with me,” Heidi said, her voice frosted with amusement and spite.

  Juliana could feel Terrence’s wince, saw the look of pain cross his face. She stopped him, turning on her heel.

  Okay, Ms. Heidi. Apparently, you need some lessons in manners, and school’s in session. Juliana’s smile was feral.

  “Really,” Juliana drawled. “He said he was in love with you. As in now, the present.” Her voice was low, but she’d had training, and she made sure it carried. Even the waiters were frozen at their stations, and every set of eyes in the place was locked on the drama unfolding at the small, linen-covered table.

  Heidi puckered her mouth sourly, making her look years older. “He said he’d never forgotten me,” she hedged, looking at her manicure—avoiding Juliana’s gaze. “I guess I made an impression.”

  Juliana nuzzled Terrence’s jaw, and she felt him tense. “That is so adorable,” she said, her voice dripping with sweetness. “Every woman wants to hear she was wanted once. That’s so kind of you.”

  Terrence shrugged, but his back was straight and there was a wicked grin on his face. He looked at Heidi with an expression of smug pity, not an easy one to pull off.

  Atta boy, Terrence!

  “Well, he sounded pretty sincere when he said that driving me home was one of the highlights of his life,” Heidi shot back. Her voice was light, but she sounded as though she was trying for a shot—trying to show that Terrence was the pathetic one, not her.

  “Oh, I’m sure it was a highlight,” Juliana said, making sure that there was no doubt it was the past tense. “I get the feeling he’s got some new highlights lately.” She kissed his cheek and felt him tremble. She’d have to be careful with him—she was trying to help him out, not give him ideas—but this cow was asking for it. “Unless…what do you think, Terrence? Do I have competition here?”

  Terrence’s responding grin was like summer lightning, fast and bright. “Well, she was head cheerleader.”

  “Oh, my.” Juliana bit her lip. “Don’t say she was homecoming queen, too. I just don’t think I could compete with that.”

  “Just one of the court,” Terrence reassured her, then laughed.

  Heidi sank lower in her chair.

  “Guess I’ll just have to keep a tighter leash on you,” Juliana teased lightly. “We’ve really got to get going. It’s been a slice, Heidi.”

  She escorted Terrence out of the restaurant. The guy almost collapsed against her.

  “Oh, my God,” he said, his voice shaking. “And I thought that was going to be the easy challenge. Even doing the mural is gonna be a snap after this.”

  “You said it,” Juliana said, huffing out a breath. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Thanks to you.” He hugged her, and she patted his back. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.” She disengaged herself. “And thank you for only grabbing my ass the once.”

  “I got caught up in the role.” His grin was unrepentant, and she chuckled.

  Lincoln came out. “Next time, for God’s sake,” he said sharply to Terrence, “choose BASE jumping or glacier skiing or something that doesn’t involve the opposite sex, okay? I’d rather slam my hand shut in a car door than live through that again.”

  “You and me both,” Terrence agreed.

  “And you,” Lincoln said, turning to Juliana.

  She braced herself, putting up her chin. If he was going to upbraid her for interfering, she was going to just have to…

  “Nice work,” Lincoln said. Then hugged her.

  She blinked, stunned.

  “Yeah,” Tucker said, squeezing her shoulder. “Really cool.”

  The other assembled players were filing out, giving her thumbs-up, grinning.

  Encouraging.

  She felt at a loss. She fidgeted with her bag.

  “Okay, drinks at my place,�
�� Tucker called out. “God knows we need it.”

  There was a cheer, and everybody headed for their respective cars. Terrence gave her one last squeeze.

  “If you need help with anything, let me know,” he said. “I owe you.”

  She demurred, then watched as he walked off to a pea-green MINI Cooper and zoomed off.

  Lincoln opened her car door for her. “Now,” he murmured, close to her ear. “Do you understand why I love the club?”

  “You like to watch people in pain?” she asked, baffled.

  He laughed. “No. Did you see Terrence? He’s more confident now. I guarantee his life is going to be one hundred percent different tomorrow than it’s ever been in his whole life. And every challenge is going to improve his life.”

  She bit her lip, thoughtful.

  “Hell, didn’t you get a charge? Helping him out?”

  She smiled slowly. “Yeah. I did. I can’t remember having that much fun, not for a long time.”

  “Right now, he’d jump in front of a bus for you,” Lincoln commented wryly. “But did you see how many players showed up for him?” When she nodded, he smiled. It changed his whole face, from merely handsome to devastating. “We’re a family. We stand up for each other, stick by each other. It makes a difference. That’s why I do this. That’s why this club means so much to me. It’s loyalty.” He stroked her cheek.

  Loyalty. She swallowed hard.

  And thought about the minicamera that was disguised as a brooch, hanging from her dress, wondering why she suddenly felt like a traitor.

  THE TRAITOROUS FEELING hadn’t gone away by the next day, when she bullied her way into Stephen Trainer’s office. She had the footage of Terrence’s disastrous dinner; she’d cleaned it up as best she could.

  She’d never let them air it, of course—she doubted she’d get Heidi’s permission, for one thing, although people were funny about wanting to be famous. They didn’t care if it was humiliation, as long as people knew they were on TV. Still, she remembered Lincoln’s words to her in the car.

  The club is like my family.

  She squirmed in her seat until Stephen finished watching the reel.

  “What do you think? Of the footage?” Juliana forced her voice to stay light, calm, as she sat in Stephen’s office.

  His eyebrow raised, and he shrugged. “What do you think I thought?”

  She stood up, unable to sit still for another moment as nerves crawled through her. “I know it wasn’t what you were expecting,” she said dismissively, “but that was a moment that people would want to see. The guy, the nerdy hero, against the bitchy ex…total underdog moment.”

  “And of course you, the hourglass Amazon, swooping in to save the day,” Stephen said. “Come on. I know when I’m being set up, kiddo.”

  “What?” Of all the arguments she was expecting, that one wasn’t even on the list. “I did not set that up!”

  “Sure you didn’t,” he said. “What do I look, stupid or something?”

  “That was an actual challenge!”

  “You know, you tell a writer that something’s unbelievable, they automatically say that it’s the way it actually happened,” Stephen said, brushing at her with his hands as though she was a persistent fly. “Listen to me. I’m not saying I have something against prepped filming—reality is mostly bullshit anyway, most of the stuff’s staged. But this was obviously staged. People don’t want to be reminded that their ‘reality’ is totally fake, Jules…and this, well, this challenges believability.”

  “Challenges believability,” she muttered, tugging at her hair. “You know me. If I’d staged it, would I have used a crappy hidden camera? Wouldn’t I have had better editing?”

  “It’s a Blair Witch thing,” he said. “It’s crappy, so it must be real. Come on, that’s so 2002.”

  She stifled a little scream. “All right. So, it can be staged, but should look unstaged.” She paced through the confines of his office like a newly caged tiger. “Give me something here, Stephen. What, exactly, are you looking for?”

  “Something where you aren’t the center,” he said bluntly, and she paused to stare at him. “Come on. The nerdy kid was a nice angle, but you ran that scene. You’re coming to me with a show about the Player’s Club…damn it, I want to see some of these players. That’s the show I want.”

  She frowned at him. “This is going to be my show, Stephen.”

  “You’ll be one of the executive producers and you’ll get writing credit,” he said. “You’ll be a star player…heh, no pun intended. But the thing that’s going to hook an audience is this rich-boys-prank club, Jules. You show me more of that, and we’ve got a deal.”

  She rubbed at her temples. If she didn’t need the money so badly, she’d tell Stephen Trainer to shove his production deal someplace dark and very, very painful. But she did need him, so she bit her tongue.

  “And you might want to work on the production values,” he added, as her blood pressure inched higher. “Unless you’ve got something seriously hot.”

  “I can’t exactly cart a camera around for these things,” she groused, then winced as his eyes narrowed. “This was on a hidden mini.”

  Now it was Stephen’s turn to frown. “I can’t show any of these guys on TV without releases, either. How were you planning on getting around that?”

  “I’ll get releases,” she assured him, with a confidence that she didn’t entirely feel. “And for those guys who don’t want to sign releases, I’m sure we can just pixelate them out. In fact, that might add to the notoriety. You know, like those prison shows where they can’t show a guy’s face because he might get killed.”

  “Hmm. Might have something there,” Stephen said, and she let out a pent-up breath. “You know what would really sell this, though?”

  “What?” she asked, hoping he wasn’t going to say sex or maybe the fight club aspect.

  “Who started it? Getting some details on the history of this thing could be good.”

  She rolled her eyes. “The footage I brought you is too boring, but you want the history of the Player’s Club? How is that not a snooze fest?”

  “You don’t get it,” he said impatiently. “These guys—the Players—they have the lives guys want to live. They’re the Scarlet Pimpernel mixed with the frickin’ Rat Pack. They have hidden identities, they have life-threatening adventures. They probably dress better and make more money than the viewer, and the viewer loves them for it. They’re like superheroes who party with George Clooney. They’re the ultimate.” His smile grew crafty. “Get me some footage of an interview with one of the founders, find out his story—and if you can get me some real screen time, not this pixelated crap? I’ll ink you a deal ASAP.”

  Her mouth went dry. “As it happens,” she murmured, thinking of Lincoln, “I do know one or two of the founders of the club.”

  Of course, Lincoln would probably rather roll naked over red-hot coals before going in front of a camera. But Finn was a founder, too, wasn’t he? And Finn was the type who would do almost anything once.

  She’d just convince Finn, that was all.

  “I’ll get you the interview as soon as I can,” she said.

  “Not just the interview,” he said, “although, that’ll seal the deal. I want some real footage. Something that knocks me out. None of this touchy-feely, reunited-with-lost-love crap.”

  “You got it,” she said, heading for the door. There was always Terrence’s next challenge: something about painting a building. She’d just have to film that, that’s all. And then…

  “There is one more thing.”

  She bit back on impatience, turned to him. “Sure, of course. What else?”

  “There’s another guy who wants a producer credit, and who really wants in on this project.” She gathered from Stephen’s apologetic tone that it was going to be an unpleasant addition. “Actually, he brought up a similar idea a while ago, and I thought…”

  “Who?” Juliana interrupted, but she wa
s afraid she already knew.

  “An old friend of mine. George Macalister.”

  Oh, God. She felt bile rise up in her throat. “No.”

  Stephen’s face puckered. “What? Why? When he found out that I was working on this, he insisted. He used to be in that damned club, you know. In fact, he…”

  “Claims he was one of the founders. Yeah, that’s a bunch of crap,” she spat out, more viciously than she’d intended. “He’s not even in the club anymore, and that’s because they kicked him out.”

  “He had a difference of opinion, according to him, with the current leaders,” Stephen said, and his expression and the shrug of his shoulders suggested that he didn’t particularly care what happened. “Whatever. The point is, he knows a lot of the stuff they used to do, and he knows what they like…and he has a lot of contacts, a lot of stories. He’d be a good interview candidate. He’s already set up a lot of reenactments, and they’re pretty spicy.”

  She wanted to punch him. She wanted to throw things. Instead, she quirked her lips, keeping her expression calm. “I know George, too, and I don’t think we’d be a good partnership on this project.”

  Stephen waited a beat, then crossed his arms. “You work with George on this,” he said quietly, “or you don’t get a deal with me. Got it?”

  She waited, her hand closing on the doorknob. It felt blessedly cool beneath her fingertips—she felt hot enough, sick enough, to pass out.

  Lincoln is going to hate you for this.

  She closed her eyes, picturing his face. Then pictured the red letters of Past Due on her last two condo mortgage payments.

  “Fine,” she said, “I’ll work with George.”

  At least Stephen didn’t look smug, which she appreciated. Instead, he sighed.

  “Tell you what. If you can get me some kind of footage that I can use in the next two weeks, I’ll personally front you some cash until we get a deal. That’s how confident I am, that this would get picked up.”

  Her ears pricked up. “Really?”

  He nodded. “I’ve been where you are, kiddo. And I think you’ve got enough spirit—and balls—to make it, if you can manage to keep your head above water. In fact, I pity the guy who tries to get in your way.”