by Cathryn Fox
“What? Are you fucking crazy? The only reason I don’t stand up and walk out of here right now is that I’m damned curious to know what the hell you think you’re doing. You think because my daughter is in your damned hospital you can suck me into this fucking fund-raising racket?” He took a deep breath and looked away. “Besides—I came here in your God damned car.”
She smiled, but he remained expressionless. She supposed that was better than a scowl of anger on top of his angry words. But then she remembered this was his game face; the face he wore to war; the face he used when he played to win. She searched her mind for what to say to him.
“I’m not crazy, Barry. And I’m not trying to take advantage of you. I’m desperate.” She didn’t whine. She didn’t embellish. She didn’t complain. She only stated the bare fact of the matter. It was all she had.
His face fell into his hands as he leaned forward. He lifted his head after a moment. The blaze of his eyes burned directly at hers. She took a quick breath at the intensity of his focus, his taut look, the clench of his jaw.
“Fuck! I’m fucked. Do you know what you’re asking—no forcing—me to do? I can’t say no because somewhere, deep down, I must have some decency left in me. But it was buried so long ago even I’m surprised it’s still there. Shit. Do you know what you’re asking? This fucking fund drive of yours goes smack through the whole fucking season all the way through the play-offs! How the hell am I going to make appearances?”
“Other athletes do it all the time,” she insisted.
“I’m not ‘other athletes.’ I’m having a hard enough time getting in to see my own fucking daughter. God damn, Roxanne.” He paused and looked around them and took a deep breath before he continued. “Let me just give you the fucking money.” His eyes looked wild and imploring.
Her throat tightened. She’d never seen him like this before. Now he was the desperate one and she didn’t understand why. A ball of vile rose to clog her already tight throat. She couldn’t speak, could barely breathe.
A plate clattered to the floor somewhere. She became aware of her surroundings again. She took some stabilizing breaths and lowered her shaky hand. She gathered her poise to speak.
“Do you have twelve million dollars handy?” she asked quietly.
“Fuck. I’d have to sell most of my investments and probably at a loss.” He looked away from her now, rubbing his chin. He appeared calmer. She felt her face flush with surprised shame that she’d asked for a piece of him when she realized he would seriously consider giving her millions of dollars rather than time. He muttered one more curse, grabbed the pen from the table, and scrawled his name across the signature line.
Despite having witnessed the anguish it cost him, she smiled. Her racing heart slowed to normal. Whatever mysterious reasons he had for his battle with himself, she felt strangely proud of him. Maybe she could get him to put out more effort for his daughter.
“Now get this God damned thing out of my face. And don’t talk to me about it until you have to. I don’t even want to think how much of myself I just signed away.”
“Don’t worry. It won’t take much time…”
“Time? You think that’s all it is?
Roxanne leaned back in her seat and opened her mouth, then closed it again. She thought for a moment. It wasn’t about time, was it? She had enough time to do both her jobs, but it was something else that was needed besides time. Energy? More than that. Commitment—emotional commitment.
“I suppose not,” she said. Roxanne felt confused. Her throat constricted again. Her momentary pleasure and pride faded. She studied Barry’s face as he looked at her. She licked her lips.
“I’m sorry, Barry. I know it’s going to be hard for you. But if it’s any consolation, I think you’re doing the right thing.” She paused, then smiled. “I’m glad there was some decency left in you. I kind of thought there might be.”
He quirked his mouth in a faint version of his lopsided grin. “You mean in spite of everything you’ve heard about me? I’ve turned down these charity things before, except a couple off-season things and whatever the organization insists on. Maybe Lindy has a stronger hold on me than I thought. Maybe I am more than an uncle-daddy. It’s impossible to say no to something that might benefit her.
“One thing I know for sure. It’s going to be a hell of a fucking season. I’m not at all sure I want to venture a guess at the outcome. If the start’s been any sign, I’m in for a roller coaster ride.” He stared at the saltshaker he’d been tossing up and down with one hand.
Roxanne certainly had nothing to add to that comment. She was in for a ride herself. The next six months didn’t look to be a walk in the park for her either. Between the Dr. Oki Fund, trying to do two jobs, not to mention the notion of Penelope having a detective snooping around, she had her own problem with balls in the air. Roxanne shifted uneasily in her seat as she joined Barry in watching his methodical toss of the saltshaker.
The waitress approached the table and stood, clearing her throat before either of them looked up.
“Can you get me a pack of cigarettes please—and a cup of coffee.” Barry looked at the waitress with those brilliant blue eyes and Roxanne saw the girl fairly gasp. She didn’t know if it was his blazing stare of his request for cigarettes that startled the girl, but she scurried away before Roxanne could ask for a thing. Not that she wanted anything. She was decidedly unhungry.
“Now you’ve blown your secret.”
Barry looked at her and snapped his fingers in a gesture of mock regret. She laughed and he looked at her with that lopsided grin that would forever hold a treasured place in her memory. No matter what else happened, she decided.
“I can’t say I’m surprised.” Harry didn’t smile when Roxanne threw the signed contract on the small round table for Laura and him to see. Laura flipped to the signature page to see Barry Dennis’s scrawled name across the bottom.
“This is great. I’ll start getting on the phone right away and put things in motion now that we have something solid to push. It will make my job a lot easier,” Laura said. She began to rise, taking the contract with her.
“Wait. You said you had some things for me relating to my holiday benefit party,” Roxanne stopped her. Laura’s smile faded and she looked away.
“Oh, that. You don’t really want that stuff now.” Laura started to walk toward the door.
“Bills?” Roxanne guessed. Laura nodded. “How much?”
“The invitations, the catering deposit, miscellaneous linens, postage, et cetera. So far it comes to about thirty-five hundred dollars.” Laura wrinkled her nose as she stood looking at Roxanne.
Roxanne raised her eyes skyward, blew out a whistle and put her chin in her hand. “Shit.” She looked at Harry who was now frowning. He looked like he was about to say something, but Roxanne wasn’t going to let him try. She was prepared for this eventuality, not that she had the money sitting in the bank waiting to pay the bills. This was only the beginning of the bills for this party. She expected it to run her about ten thousand dollars altogether. And she knew what she had to do to pay for it. She stood.
“Time for me to go see Al again.” She pushed back the sleeve of her sweater and ripped the diamond-studded Rolex from her wrist. She heard Laura gasp and looked at her friend’s stunned face.
“Don’t worry, Laura. I have a Timex at home.”
Al was a partner in a successful law firm in Government Center and their offices were duly impressive, Roxanne noted as she pushed open the heavy wooden door. The receptionist greeted her and buzzed Al immediately. They’d been expecting her.
Roxanne didn’t bother to sit in one of the low upholstered chairs. In site of her earlier bravado, the fact that she had to sell her Rolex bothered her. Not that she would miss the watch, but it was the last thing she had left in her jewelry box worth much.
What would she do now in a pinch? Her paycheck from the studio covered the barest of living expenses. It didn’t pay the
tax bill for the house that was due in less than a month. She was standing there chewing her lip contemplating the next unforeseen financial disaster when Al walked out to the reception area.
“Roxy, it’s good to see you. Come right in—I only had to kick out a bigwig from New York, but it’s worth it to see you.” The receptionist looked at him skeptically and Roxanne laughed, pushing the worries to the back of her mind with another Scarlett O’Hara promise. She would think of what to do later.
Roxanne stood in front of Al’s desk with her hands on her hips, refusing to be intimidated. She glanced out the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the close, dark brick buildings of Boston’s North end. The harbor was visible in the distance.
He came to stand behind her. He stood close without touching her, but his proximity felt uncomfortable. She stilled. He put his hands on her hips and tugged her toward him.
“Al, don’t. It’s strictly business between us,” Roxanne said as she spun away from him. If he hadn’t been helping her out with Penelope’s lawsuit and selling her jewels, she might have let her anger out. She stepped around him and flopped into one of the visitor’s chairs to calm down.
He turned and stood with folded arms and watched her sitting there while she bounced her leg up and down over her knee to relieve her tension. He stood in front of her. She continued to hold her tongue and her judgment. She watched him watch her.
“Why?” he finally asked.
“I don’t know. Because you’re married?” she said. There was no way he could possibly argue with her. He half sat on the edge of the desk, his arms still folded, still watching her. She supposed he was disappointed, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t remember giving him a particular reason to feel entitled.
“I’m sorry. I… never mind. What business brings you here today?”
She reached in her bag and pulled out her watch, dangling it in front of him. Her anger still simmered. His apology sounded small. He hesitated before taking the watch from her. She could tell he wanted to comment, but knew better. She gave him a wry smile, then pushed herself out of her chair.
“Ten thousand?” She looked down at him as he remained poised on the edge of his desk.
“Should be no problem”
She sighed, reminding herself he was really a good guy. What was it with men? She had to give Al credit. He was handling the rejection admirably. No whimpering. No whining.
Roxanne smiled again. This time she got his full attention when she stood and reached out her hand to pat his cheek. “Don’t ever go over the line again.” She spoke the words quietly, but with finality. Then she turned and walked across the room to the door. He stood when she turned to him again.
“I don’t understand you at all,” he said. She laughed and this time he smiled.
“That must be the attraction.” She didn’t wait for a response. She stepped out the door and pulled it closed behind her. She rode down the elevator, contemplating the option of finding another lawyer. If only she had money. Al was doing her a favor because he felt he owed her. His firm had a long-standing relationship with the hospital’s fund-raising league. She figured he would have gotten his son into the experimental program one way or another even without her help. She went to him when she began divorce proceedings although they never went very far. Being the only lawyer she really knew he seemed the likely choice. When she had the issue with Penelope and the will, she went to him with the understanding that he’d be paid when she finally sold her house. Whenever that might be. She was stuck.
As she stepped out of Al’s building onto Tremont Street in downtown Boston, she couldn’t bring herself to call up another Scarlet O’Hara affirmation. Instead, she thought of Barry Dennis and found his image more comforting by far.
Unfortunately, Roxanne arrived late to the studio. It was one thirty p.m. on the Wednesday before her holiday benefit party and traffic was unbelievable. She knew it would be like this as thousands of college kids made a mass exodus. She’d left early, but Al had called her cell and she pulled over to talk. She was surprised to find it had taken only two days, marked most notably by one dinner date with Barry Dennis, to sell her watch. Al wanted to deliver the check over dinner with her, but she said no.
The crew was busy when she walked into the studio, but thank goodness the talent hadn’t arrived yet. She ducked around the corner and down the short corridor to the makeup room. If anyone noticed her late arrival they weren’t saying anything. People seemed preoccupied. Even the usually talkative woman who was doing her makeup remained silent.
Now all she had to do was get this interview perfect first time so she could get out of there and finalize the details of her benefit.
One of those calls was to Barry Dennis. They hadn’t spoken to or seen each other for days. He’d been on edge since he signed the contract to be spokesperson for the Dr. Oki Fund. The contract had been cleared through his agent and the Celtics organization with only minor changes. She hoped to see him every time she visited Lindy. But the only ones she ever ran into were Lindy’s maternal grandparents—and Paul Paris.
She sat in the hostess chair on the set of Interesting People. She would love to see Barry again, even before her party. But with his schedule and the way he was throwing himself into basketball after the bad press he got for the awful game he’d played the day he signed the contract with her, she wasn’t sure he’d even come to her party.
The talent approached with a nervous smile. She smiled back. She would call Barry and convince him to accept the invitation. Roxanne stood and extended her hand to welcome the anxious man to the stage. It was part of her job to put the talent at ease. She took pride in the fact that she was particularly good at it.
The man was Pat Banyan, sports writer for the Boston Herald. Roxanne had dutifully read all his columns for the past several weeks in anticipation of the interview. He wrote special articles on all the Boston sports teams, but mostly covered baseball and basketball.
This past week he’d written a particularly scathing piece about the Celtics and Barry Dennis. Roxanne glanced at the list of questions she had prepared to ask Mr. Banyan. They both took their chairs. I’m going to make you pay Mr. Banyan, for those nasty things you said about Barry Dennis.
“What makes Pat Banyan qualify as an interesting person?” Roxanne asked her imaginary audience through the lens of the camera. Lounging back, legs crossed, she turned to the man.
His smile was weak. She could see beads of sweat forming on his balding scalp.
“I’ll tell you what I find very interesting, Mr. Banyan.” She looked down at the papers on her lap, pulled up the top sheet and held it up for a camera close-up. It was a recent back cover sports page of the Boston Herald with the banner headline reading “Barry Dennis Where Are You?”
The man chuckled and was about to say something, but Roxanne cut him off. She hoped the director wouldn’t stop her.
“Mr. Banyan, this article goes on and on in the style of the headline, accusing Barry Dennis of not coming to play. Don’t you find it a bit premature, only six weeks into the season, to crucify the man? He’s a veritable living legend who’s played his heart out season after season for his fans.” She stopped and waited for his reply with her TV camera smile in place, leaning back in her chair.
“You would be right if it were someone else. Gloomy accusations at this juncture would be too soon for anyone else, but not for Barry Dennis…”
“You perceive Barry Dennis to be somehow different than the rest of us?”
“Yes, of course. You said it yourself. He’s a living legend. That’s how he got his legendary status in the first place—by being inhumanly perfect. In the sports arena, that is.” The man’s words sounded too much like Barry’s own. But then so what? It was all a bunch of hogwash.
“Excuse me for saying so, but legendary or not, what you are saying amounts to accusing a human being of being human. Do you think we expect too much of our sports heroes? Perhaps casting them in superhum
an roles in which they are destined to fail? The media seems to love hoisting their darlings of the sports world high onto a pedestal, only so it will be more fun to knock them off when they inevitably falter.” Roxanne stopped speaking. She waited for his response.
He looked at her with a furrowed brow, and then turned to the production manager. “You didn’t tell me this was going to be some kind of skewering of the sports media. I ain’t going to sit here and take the heat for telling it like it is about her boyfriend.”
The director shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands looking back at Roxanne as if helpless. This was his game. He pretended to have no control of her. Pat Banyan rose, took a last look over his shoulder at her and walked off the stage muttering. “The man’s crazy, stark raving mad…”
Roxanne stood.
“I guess this means you’re too afraid to ‘tell it like it is’ on camera. You only do that in print where no one can argue back. Come on Mr. Banyan, don’t be such a baby.” She stood with her hands on her hips and watched him stop dead, precisely when she’d said the word “baby.” He turned and stalked back.
“Okay. If it’s a fight you want, it’s a fight you’ll get. That’ll be the day I let some broad like you out-tough me. No more of this polite crap.” He stepped back up onto the set and she smiled.
“Now you’re cooking. But please remember, this is family television, Mr. Banyan.”
“Okay, take it from where you left off. Pat, it’s your response…quiet…roll…okay, Pat…” The director pointed at the man.
“The media only writes about the facts. It’s the fans that decide who belongs on a pedestal and who doesn’t. I would certainly not judge Barry Dennis. I think he’s just another guy—who happens to be phenomenally talented at basketball—and phenomenally well paid. My expectation of him would be the same, no matter what job he was doing—basketball or street cleaning. You show up to work, do what you get paid to do, and do your best at it.”