by Cathryn Fox
“Come on over. I’m sure this little lady will be delighted to see you.”
“Daddy, is that you?”
He heard Lindy from beyond the line of attendants. When he approached the bed they stepped away. He zeroed in on his little girl’s face before he could take in the ugly unhealed burns and skin grafts on her bared limbs and body. He almost convulsed with the discomfort caused by the mere peripheral vision of her wounds and the overpowering smell of antiseptics. He concentrated hard on her eyes and forced a smile. He was sure he looked more like the big bad wolf than her loving daddy.
“Hi, angel.” He went to touch her face.
“You really shouldn’t—touch. We’re just finishing up the exam here then sealing her back in the BCNU.”
“Dr. Oki, please just one kiss? Please?” Lindy begged.
Even Barry could sense she was on the verge of tears. “Of course, angel.” He bent to kiss her before Dr. Oki had a chance to respond. They could wash her again with the antiseptics if they had to. But he knew the doctor wouldn’t protest. He was a man who knew where to draw his lines. Barry used to be that way.
“You don’t look ready to play basketball yet, angel.” Barry stood straight and looked at the doctor—right at his eyes. “When do you think she’ll be ready, Doc? I need her help.” Barry winked at her and she smiled weakly.
“Another month or so for her hospital stay. She can take physical therapy as an outpatient. What kind of plans do you have for her care when she gets home?”
“Only the best. We can talk about the details another time,” he said.
“I’ll have my secretary call you to set up an appointment.” The doctor nodded toward Lindy.
One nurse injected Lindy with a shot. The girl cried out in anguish. Barry felt every muscle in his body contract. He looked at her eyes and they were closing but tears streamed out at the same time. Another nurse bathed the wounds. Barry knew Lindy was suffering unbearable pain. His gut twisted like barbed wire.
“She’s going to fall asleep now. The shot was a sedative,” Dr. Oki said. “She can’t have an IV sedative yet.” The doctor put his hand on Barry’s arm to turn him aside. “These examinations are always painful, but she’s really doing well. Why don’t you come with me now.” Dr. Oki nodded to the nurses.
Barry took one last look at Lindy. Her lids were almost closed. He was sure she wasn’t aware of him. “Bye, angel. I’ll be back.” He saw her faint smile of acknowledgement, a slight parting of her lips. Then her lids closed completely. He turned.
His back stiff, Barry walked with the doctor out of the room and down the corridor to a lounge area. The doctor didn’t sit, so neither did he. He glanced out the window overlooking the Longwood Medical District. All he could see were blocks of big brick hospitals, one after another.
“Mr. Dennis, we haven’t had much of a chance to talk with you about Lindy’s progress in detail, or about her recovery therapy and what her prognosis is …”
“Roxanne keeps me informed.” He turned to face the doctor.
“Yes. She’s been very helpful with Lindy’s care—not to mention her morale. She comes in often to feed Lindy and keep her company.”
“Yeah.”
“I just thought you should know.”
“I know all about it, Doc. Look, I don’t know what you think of me. But I sense an undercurrent of disapproval. I didn’t come here to be judged…”
“Not at all. I know you’re in a difficult situation. There is no question that you love your daughter. I would never begin to judge a parent for their reaction to such a trauma. And believe me, I’ve seen a lot.” Dr. Oki sat then.
Barry took a nearby chair and put his feet up on the laminated wood and metal coffee table and slouched back into the industrial strength seat. He eyed the doctor and figured, what the hell. The man said he wasn’t here to judge. Barry could put that to the test. He reached in his pocket and pulled out his pack of Marlboros and lit one up, watching the doctor the whole time. Dr. Oki remained implacable. His eyes followed every move; from when Barry struck the match until he took the first long drag. Still Barry saw not a hint of decree.
“Will she be able to walk, Doctor?” It was a hard question to ask. His pulse pounded in his head with the effort. He wasn’t sure he could handle the answer.
“It’s too soon to give you more than a fifty-fifty estimate of probability. A lot depends on physical therapy.” The doctor paused. “Frankly, a lot depends on you.” This time when the doctor looked him in the eye, Barry could see exactly what he thought. The doctor thought he ought to get his act together or Lindy was going to suffer for it.
“For the sake of argument, let’s assume that I’m actually capable of giving her the support she needs.” Barry noted the slight smile on the doctor’s face then. It was the kind of smile that only the Japanese and Mona Lisa could pull off.
“Even with maximum support, there is still a good twenty per cent chance that she will need a wheel chair. Mr. Dennis, I have to put it to you straight. She will never be able to run and jump and play normally. There will always be some degree of restriction in her mobility. There’s been too much damage to the muscle tissue. She will never walk like you or I—or play basketball.” The doctor never took his eyes off his. The look was intense.
Barry finally turned away and put his hands to his face. He could feel the tension in his jaw and wanted to scream to release it. He fought the urge to punch something. “Shit,” he finally said. He’d known the answers. None of them were surprising. But the impact hit him again hard, like the first time he’d seen her after the accident.
“Why the fuck did this have to happen to her?” He wasn’t asking the doctor. He pushed himself to his feet and jabbed his cigarette in a tray until it was crushed into pieces.
He could feel the glaze of emotion in his own eyes. He knew the stark, raw look of terror and helplessness showed in every feature of his face. Even the implacable Dr. Oki could not help react.
The doctor stood and moved toward him. Barry turned aside.
“You’ll handle it. She’ll be a happy child again.” The doctor turned and walked toward the door. He paused on the threshold. “You should give Roxanne a call. She’ll make you feel better.”
Barry looked at the man and laughed as he ran the doctor’s words through his mind. “In more ways than one,” he said, half to himself. He wasn’t prepared for the wounded look that instantly appeared on the doctor’s face. A flush of color lit the man’s cheeks. He turned and left without another word.
“What the hell?” Barry muttered to himself. The sickening, leaden feeling settled in his stomach. The doctor felt protective toward Roxanne, Barry thought.
It didn’t matter one way or another. He wouldn’t call Roxanne. He wouldn’t see her again except professionally. She could make him feel better all right. But he couldn’t afford to feel that good.
“Thanks a lot for nothing, buddy. Roxanne Monet is the only one authorized to give out her phone number according to the lady herself,” Kevin said to Barry. Dave McCall approached the bar in Houston’s at Faneuil Hall Market Place. Barry glanced around over the heads of the crowd. They’d picked a lively night for their so-called hunting trip.
“Struck out, did you?”
“I didn’t even get to bat. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes the next time she sees you.” Kevin pointed a finger at Barry’s chest.
“What did I miss?” Dave asked. “Don’t worry about scoring, Kevin. We’ll find some prime babes tonight.”
“Prime babes?” Barry raised a brow. “It’s a good thing you’re already married, Dave, or you’d be in serious trouble.” They all laughed. But the humor didn’t reach Barry’s churning gut.
“By the way, Kevin, you don’t suppose I could have that number back do you? It was my only copy,” he asked, for no good reason.
“Nah. I threw it out. It’s not on my cell anymore either—I use the phone constantly,” Kevin said.
; “Shit. She called twice on the house phone and left messages.” Barry knew he should leave it alone.
“Don’t you have Caller ID?” Dave asked.
“I don’t know. Hardly ever use the house phone.”
“No big deal. You’re better off without her,” Dave said.
“What do you mean?” Kevin asked.
Barry threw Dave a warning glance.
“Nothing. It’s a long story. Let’s have a drink,” Dave said.
Barry ordered Dave his usual beer. It turned out they didn’t have to do much hunting. Women were drawn to them. Barry and Dave towered over most of the crowd and were instantly recognizable. All the women who approached them were deflected toward Kevin.
But by ten that night they all went home by themselves, having had a good time nonetheless. When Barry got home he did an internet search to find Roxanne’s number, but of course it wasn’t listed in any of the usual places. He shut the notebook computer, muttering to himself that he must be crazy. She’d be angry with him and rightly so. Even if he no longer wanted to see her, he hardly had a right to pass her along to another man.
If she did bother to call again, it would be to yell at him. He would let her. Then he’d forget her and move on. He’d gotten several phone numbers that evening for future reference. Any one of them was as good a candidate for a casual affair—better. None of them were nearly as interesting or exciting or intriguing as Roxanne.
He ran his fingers through his hair and headed for the stairs. When he was halfway to the top he heard his house phone ring. The answering machine in his bedroom could take it. He had to get to sleep.
Then he heard her voice. He lunged up the last three steps at once and dashed into his room, grabbing the phone.
“Rox, hi, I just got in.” Barry breathed hard into the phone before he realized it and then cupped his hand over the mouthpiece so he wouldn’t sound like some pervert.
“Out late, aren’t you? And I was worried I’d wake you.”
“Special occasion. What’s up?” Barry recognized the teasing note in her voice, but he steeled himself for her anger. He was sure she would let him have it—somehow. His pulse quickened at that thought and he shifted on his feet to try and relax.
“I have a business proposition for you, but I’d much rather go over it in person. Can we meet for lunch tomorrow and discuss it?” Her voice was as cool and businesslike as he’d ever heard. Maybe this was her way of dealing with him. Maybe from now on he was relegated to the unfortunate group of men who were to her strictly professional relations. He was about to accept her invitation to find out when he remembered.
“I have a game tomorrow night.”
“I know that. So what? You still have to eat lunch don’t you?”
Barry could swear he heard the near laugh in her voice mocking him and the one side of his mouth curved upward.
“You know what happens to me when we get together. I can’t risk seeing you the day of a game. I’ll be useless by game time.”
Roxanne laughed and his grin widened. He figured she mustn’t be too upset with him after all.
“I’m sure you can manage to control yourself just this once. It’s very important.” She paused. “We’ll meet in public.”
He noticed a subtle but distinct change in her tenor from businesslike to teasing. This time he laughed.
“Okay. We’re on for lunch. I promise to control myself—if you do.”
“I’ll pick you up after practice?”
“See you around two then.” He probably should have said three, but he didn’t want to make their meeting too close to game time.
“Oh, and Barry—don’t ever give my phone number to another man again.” The line went dead. He stood holding it and blew out a long whistle. He tossed the phone on his nightstand and plopped down on his bed. That was that. Relief seeped through him. He thought she’d be a lot angrier.
He stood back up and stripped his clothes. Glancing at the alarm clock he realized it was nearly eleven and he swore under his breath. He would have been in bed, asleep, an hour ago. He got in bed and lay down but his eyes were wide open. She should have been very angry. He wondered about it for only another minute. She must want something pretty badly from me. A smile formed on his face as he anticipated their business meeting the next day.
Chapter Twelve
ROXANNE LEANED against the sparkling red Corvette on the crisp, sunny early December day in the parking lot of Hellenic College. She stood outside the gym waiting for Barry. There were only a few other cars left in the lot, including Barry’s black Cadillac Eldorado. Roxanne shook her head. It looked like a mobster car. It suited him perfectly now that she thought of it, between his New York accent and his defiant cigarette-smoking attitude.
The gymnasium door swung open and Roxanne automatically straightened her stance against the car, unfolding her arms. But it wasn’t Barry. It was the Celtics trainer, Mike Lavola. She returned to her pose, hugging the faux fur collar of her black leather bomber against her neck. She only had a white cotton blouse underneath. She should have worn a sweater. Looking down at her short black leather skirt, black stockings and over-the-knee boots, she admitted to herself that her attire was hardly suitable to the “business” meeting she told Barry she had planned. But she needed every advantage she could muster. All bets were off now.
Today was Sunday. She had promised Laura she would deliver Barry as the official spokesperson by tomorrow and she meant to keep that promise. That morning she had worked on drawing up the papers for Barry’s signature—after much consultation with Al regarding contract law. It was true, Roxanne thought, squinting through the sunlight, you can learn something new every day.
The gym door banged open and this time Barry and Dave stepped outside. Roxanne caught Barry’s eye immediately and he walked toward her, looking her and her car over with appreciation and his lopsided grin in place. Roxanne’s automatic response was to smile. Dave followed Barry after he saw where Barry was headed. Barry came to a stop a few feet in front of her and let out a long, loud wolf whistle, then moved closer.
“You do make an inviting picture. You ever think about doing ads to sell these cars?” he suggested. Roxanne laughed and he continued. “They asked me to do a Corvette ad once and I turned them down. But I could never have sold as many cars for them as you could.”
Dave nodded in agreement and let out a sigh.
“Would you like to join us for lunch, Dave?” Roxanne asked with a sincere smile, almost hoping he would. Dave shot his eyebrows up in surprise.
“No thanks. My wife’s expecting me home for lunch. Maybe another time—my treat.”
“It’s a date.”
“Don’t tell my wife that.” Dave laughed over his shoulder as he headed toward the Jeep Cherokee parked next to Barry’s car. Barry placed a hand on either side of her, bracing himself against the car.
“Are you sure this is a business lunch?” His grin was still in place, but his eyes only half hid the fiery blue blaze. Roxanne gazed up at his face, her eyes drawn to his.
“Let’s put it this way: I do have some business to take care of with you, but it won’t take long. The rest of my afternoon is yours.” She parted her lips slightly with her head tilted backward. She didn’t know if he would kiss her, but she invited him. She couldn’t remember ever being more enthralled with a man. The thudding loudness in her veins as her blood pumped through was an exhilarating feeling she wished she could capture and hold forever. At the same time, she knew that was as impossible as capturing this man, entirely. The sigh that she let out came as a surprise to her and it caused Barry’s brows to arch.
“I was about to commit a cardinal sin and drag you away to my bedroom for the afternoon—the business and the game be damned.” He sighed as if with regret.
She didn’t believe him.
“But I came to my senses in the nick of time. I’m rather proud of myself. Maybe some of my sanity is returning.” Barry pushed himself back fr
om the car without touching her and folded his arms across his chest, still firing his blazing eyes at her.
“I’d still be careful if I were you. I have a lot more weapons in my arsenal—if I wanted to use them.” She turned and opened her car door, gesturing for him to get in the passenger side.
He shook his head before he moved from the spot. “I’m doomed.”
She drove them to a quiet restaurant, The Colorado Grill in Brookline, not far from the gym. They were shown to the table she had reserved earlier. The hostess left their menus and Roxanne lifted her briefcase onto the table, popped it open, and pulled out a folder and two pens.
“What’s this?”
“The business I told you about. Do you want to sign on the dotted line now or would you rather I explain what signing first?”
“You want me to trust you?”
Roxanne laughed at his mock indignation. At least she thought it was a mock. “That would be asking a bit much. Okay, here’s the deal. This is a contract in which you agree to be the public spokesperson for a campaign soliciting donations for the Dr. Oki Fund—a special fund for children’s medical research in the area of burn and trauma treatment. It’s the program that Lindy is receiving treatment from. The contract period is from now until May 30th.
“You would agree to make a number of public appearances on behalf of the Fund and no less than two television commercials, which would have to be shot by the end of February.” She finished speaking. She never took her eyes off his stony face. She turned the contract toward him and flipped it open to the clipped page for his signature. She held the pen out to him, concentrating on keeping her hand steady. She felt her stomach roiling, but she didn’t flinch.
He sat, not making a move to take the pen from her, not looking at the document in front of him, but at her. She stared back at him, careful to remain businesslike. She was prepared to have to persuade him, although she hoped he would be agreeable to it without more than her reference to Lindy’s treatment. But from his unsmiling face and the expressionless eyes, she knew he was going to put up a fight.