What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 5)

by Cathryn Fox

“Those are certainly commendable words to live by, Mr. Banyan. I’m sure street cleaners everywhere are extremely thankful that you don’t write articles about the cleanliness of the streets. But I guess we aren’t all perfect. Now and then we all goof up, slack off, and generally behave as humans do. Even you. I would think after nine years of superlative performance that Barry Dennis would be allowed his humanity, especially under the circumstances. He’s obviously under a lot of stress with his daughter in the hospital. Does he really deserve such harsh feedback from you?”

  “We don’t all get paid the amount of money he does. Besides, he never cared about his daughter before, so I’m not going to buy that excuse. Professional athletes are servants of the public. The fans buy the tickets and so they own a piece of the athletes. They have a right to an opinion. They buy their rights to speak their mind when they buy that ticket. And when they buy the paper and turn to the sports page they expect the facts—and more—a thoughtful, well-informed analysis of the facts based on similar values and goals that they have.”

  “And what goals are these?”

  “Only one that matters. They want their team to win. Everything is judged with respect to that one and only goal—winning.” His eyes were bright. His expression bordered on feverish. Roxanne decided it was time for a break and signaled to the production manager. She knew Pat didn’t know the tapes stopped rolling.

  She looked at him, leaning forward and said, “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a pompous ass?” as if she were asking about the weather.

  He blinked, staring at her and then looking around as scattered laughter erupted from the production crew.

  “What the hell? What’s going on?” He stood when Roxanne laughed too.

  “Don’t worry, Pat. It’s just a joke to put you at ease,” she said.

  The production manager went over to him, giving a menacing stare over his shoulder at Roxanne as he escorted Pat off the stage. “Ten minute break, everyone.”

  Roxanne stood and stretched and decided she better not antagonize the man any further lest he take out his vengeance with another article crucifying Barry. She wondered if Barry read this stuff and thought he must. How could anyone resist reading about themselves—even if it was bad news.

  She picked up her list of questions and decided she’d ask Mr. Banyan about his experiences doing Olympic coverage.

  The rest of the interview went smoothly, though uninspired. As Roxanne gathered up the research material for her next guest before heading home, she couldn’t help returning to the thought that they would have to do something more inspired than they had been if they wanted to retain the audience share they had grabbed with the Barry Dennis interview a month ago. Even talking about Barry like in today’s taping would probably inspire more calls than normal. She couldn’t wait to find out after the show aired.

  Her plans for the children’s Christmas party at the hospital had been delayed. That was one of the things she enjoyed most about Christmas—getting involved with making those kids happy—and the hospital’s party never failed to work its magic. Not since the first time when she’d been a teenager.

  Maybe Barry could make an appearance as part of his spokesperson contract. At least then he’d see he wasn’t wasting his precious time. If that pompous sports reporter had seen how difficult it was to give away even a little of himself to anything but basketball he wouldn’t be so quick to judge Barry. No, then he’d probably have criticized him for not giving his time to charity. How much do they think these people have to go around, anyway? She knew only too well how scant a personal life Barry Dennis had.

  She got behind the wheel of her car and had to admit to herself that he couldn’t be a spokesperson to solicit money at a Christmas party that took place in the hospital. Unless…

  That was it. She slapped her hands on the steering wheel, grabbed her briefcase, got out of the car, and ran back into the studio.

  Stopping on the threshold of the producer’s open door, she stood and waited until Harry looked up from his computer at her.

  “I thought you guys wrapped it up for the day? Is there a problem?” He looked up over his glasses, his forehead wrinkled. Roxanne smiled.

  “Not at all. In face, I have the solution to the ratings problem. I have an idea for a great show.” Still grinning, she walked into the office, and ignoring Hank’s gesture for her to have a seat, she told him.

  Finally on her way home, she picked up her cell phone from the passenger seat. The Celtics were back from a trip to Chicago last night and they were playing Atlanta tomorrow in the Garden for a Sunday matinee. Roxanne thought a minute and decided not to call him after all. She would go to the game to see him instead. She would invite him out to dinner afterwards.

  As she pulled up to her house, she saw Al’s car in her driveway. She parked and sat behind the wheel. She wasn’t sure if she should be worried or angry that he was here, but either way, she was surprised. Her front door opened and Al stepped out. She lowered her window.

  “Come on. I’m taking you out to dinner,” Al said as he walked toward her. She finally got out of her car. He put his arm around her shoulder and turned her around, walking her toward his car. She resisted the impulse to pull away from him.

  “What’s the occasion?” Roxanne hoped the anxiety she felt didn’t show in her voice.

  He stopped and handed her a check. She took it and read the amount. Ten thousand dollars.

  “It’s for your watch,” He spoke with triumph. “Let’s go to dinner. I insist. No strings.” He paused and lowered his voice. “I have some developments to share with you.”

  At dinner they talked about Penelope’s progress with her vendetta.

  “I hired a detective to follow Penelope’s detective, Melvin Lipman. Melvin’s been talking with a lot of people. They’re trying to drum up a motive for murder. Maybe involving an illicit love affair. He’s stirring up trouble at the hospital and now he’s made appointments to talk with people at the TV studio next.” Al paused and took a sip of his drink.

  Her heart rose, drumming in her throat. She picked up her glass and swished the soda water, wishing it was something stronger. Al held his glass of some kind of scotch out to her. She took a swig. It burned through her, but left warmth in its wake. She thought of Barry Dennis. Al spoke again, snapping her attention back.

  “He’s also talking again to people who were at the party with you the night of Don’s death. They’re trying to pry even a small hole in your alibi. That’s all they’ll need. I’d feel a lot better if Mark Baines were around.”

  “So would I,” she admitted. “Let’s talk about something else.”

  She didn’t eat much. On the way home, the implications of what Al told her spun in her head. She looked out the window of his car. Thank God they were almost back to her house. Al broke the silence.

  “How about those Celtics? I have tickets to tomorrow’s game. Want to go?”

  She wondered if he knew of her affair with Barry. “I’m already going, but thanks.”

  “With who?” He looked away, back at the road. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business, is it?” He seemed to want an answer to that. She sighed.

  “It is none of your business, but I’m going alone. I’m meeting Barry Dennis after the game.” She looked at him so there was no misunderstanding.

  His eyes widened. He looked incredulous for a second, then morose. “Guess I can’t compete with him, can I? No. Never mind. Forget I said anything.” He shook his head, either in disgust or in resignation. She wasn’t sure. Either way, she felt relieved that he was now completely disillusioned about romancing her. Once her mind settled on seeing Barry, the tension that had kept her stiff and uncomfortable all evening disappeared. She took a deep breath. God help her.

  Stepping from the locker room after the game, Barry was only moderately surprised to see Roxanne.

  “You’re turning into a regular groupie, Rox,” Barry said as he moved quickly through the crowd of me
dia people and headed toward her. He’d spotted her instantly. He put his arm around her and swept her with him swiftly past the poised pens. Then he remembered.

  “Shit.”

  “What? Did I foil some prior plans?” Her smile looked as if she hoped she did, as if the evening wouldn’t be as enjoyable unless she claimed his attentions over everything else. Or it could be his imagination.

  He smiled down at that mischievous twinkle he saw and shook his head. “Yeah. You did. I did have other plans. And yes, I will change them to accommodate you.” He shook his head again, and leaving her standing in the dark corridor, he walked back toward the dressing room. Then he threw over his shoulder, “Don’t bother apologizing.” He heard her laughter bubble as he walked back through the crowd. The sound brought a fresh grin to his face.

  “Hey Barry. Great game. Good to see you back in form,” Kevin said to him as he walked by. Then Kevin nodded his head in Roxanne’s direction. “Be careful, though.”

  Barry laughed. “Jealous, Kevin?”

  “Sure. But I mean it.”

  “Don’t worry about me.” He ducked back into the dressing room. Some of the guys were still there, outnumbered by reporters three to one.

  “Dave,” he called to his friend. Dave was always one of the last ones out. He never seemed to be in a hurry.

  “Yo. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

  “No. I won’t be making it after all…” Barry didn’t want to explain why.

  “Why the hell not?” Dave stood and buttoned his shirt. Barry noticed the reporters who’d been sitting with Dave taking an interest, listening for his answer.

  He sighed and swiped a hand through his damp hair. “I’m going with Roxanne instead.” He didn’t keep his voice low. Dave raised his brows. He hoped to hell his friend wasn’t going to make an issue of it here. It really was no big deal. Yet he felt that twitch of defiance as he stood there.

  “So. Bring her with you. We’d be glad to set another place at dinner.”

  “Thanks. I’ll take a rain check.” Barry turned, but not before seeing Dave’s face crack into a grin.

  “Oh, I get it. You two want to be alone. Is that it?” Dave spoke a little too loudly. Barry grimaced, turned back to his friend. “Fuck you,” he mouthed, as the reporters were getting up and coming over with big smiles, mumbling amongst themselves about a budding romance.

  Barry disappeared fast. He got through the crowd in record time and swept up Roxanne on his way. He was a thirty-one year old man and he didn’t need the adolescent baloney that Dave seemed to thrive on. But he couldn’t help smiling at the thought of his friend.

  He wondered, not for the first time, what the hell he was doing and whether she was worth it. Slouched back in his car, he glanced over at her. Her face glowed with pleasure. Her black sweater clung to the tempting roundness of her breasts. She could definitely make him feel better. This was exactly what the doctor ordered, he reasoned.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ROXANNE WALKED into Harry’s office Monday morning and flung the check for ten thousand dollars on his desk. That should cover the expenses for her gala that Harry had been fronting through his office for her. Dr. Oki sat in the chair opposite the desk. “Got anything for me besides bills?”

  “Yeah. More warnings. Penelope’s been talking to Dr. Evans, my spies tell me. Trying to put pressure on him to stop the special fund for the research. He hasn’t said anything to me, though. I think he’s reluctant to stop money from flowing in—no matter what the source,” Harry said.

  “You should be concentrating more on saving yourself from Penelope. She’s got a lot of power,” Dr. Oki said, frowning. Unusual for him.

  “I’m doing all I can. I’ve got a lawyer. I’m not giving in. I won’t let her win this one. This fund-raising project is going to reach its goal. There’s too much riding on it.” She thought of Lindy. She shuddered in spite of her brave words.

  “I have to tell you something else…” Harry began.

  “Out with it, Harry.”

  “There was a man here asking questions of some of the staff around this office and others…”

  “Let me guess. He was a reporter and he wanted to know if I was really a fortune hunter?”

  “No. He wasn’t a reporter. He claimed he was but I had him checked out—you know I know most of the people in the media around these parts. And that’s not the most disturbing part, Rox. His questions were in a different vein. Seems Dr. Evans led him to believe there was something suspicious about the way you administered money. He asked a lot of questions about this fund-raising project—and about your personal life too, of course. Rox, rumors take on a life of their own. You—we—could be in big trouble.”

  “I’ll let Al know about this. You think Dr. Evans is up to something?”

  “Don’t worry about him. I’ll take care of that baloney. You should be more worried about this investigation into Don’s death.”

  “Unfortunately there’s nothing I can do about Penelope’s persistence in trying to pin a murder charge on me. My best defense—my only defense—is the fact that I’m innocent. Al’s on it. He’s having her PI dogged every step of the way.”

  “I hate to get personal, Roxy, but where are you getting the money to pay Al? This has to be costing a fortune in legal fees. And you gave away your fortune.” Dr. Oki shook his head.

  Roxanne almost blushed at the question. And she never blushed. It was a sore spot becoming sorer by the minute. She hated relying on Al. She didn’t want to rely on any man. She didn’t want to have to depend on a man for her welfare, in spite of what people thought. She learned long ago from dear Dad—who hadn’t taught her much else—that she’d best depend on herself. It wasn’t the money necessarily that bothered her. Roxanne knew she’d find a way to pay that back eventually. It was the wear and tear on their previously pleasant relationship that bothered her. She didn’t want it completely ruined.

  “I’ll pay him every cent eventually.” She couldn’t think about when that might be.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll see you through this, eh, Tim?” Harry said and looked at the doctor.

  “Penelope Boswell picked a fight with the wrong woman. You have a lot of friends, Roxy, and we’re not going to stand by and watch her take shots at you. If we can help in any way at all—you just name it,” Dr. Oki said.

  She didn’t deserve them. She had little to give in return. All she could do for these men was the best possible job she could on her fund-raising campaign. She would not let them down. With more determination than ever, she left the office.

  Laura had mentioned earlier that someone new called from Mark’s office. Laura had asked about Mark but they were vague and said something about a leave of absence.

  Roxanne badly wanted to call Mark. On the drive home she eyed her cell phone, but didn’t dare punch in his number. He’d made it clear they could not be friends. He deserved for her to respect his wishes. He deserved someone who could love him. Roxanne was not that woman. She doubted she would ever be that woman for any man. She didn’t want to be like her mother, bound to someone she didn’t love—she’d already tried that. But she didn’t want to be like Bonnie, old and alone. There seemed to be no choice for her in between.

  After she arrived home she found herself wandering around the big house alone. She stopped in the kitchen and looked at her Celtics schedule to see that they had an away game. Calling Barry was out. She thought of calling Al, but for what? She didn’t want to lose his friendship the way she’d lost Mark’s, and she was stretching it to the limit as it was.

  Bonnie was out at Vegas night with a group of seniors at the church. She always said it made her feel young to hang around with them, never admitting that she was a senior herself. And Laura was with Dr. Oki. Again tonight. That brought a smile to her face in spite of her mood.

  At ten thirty Roxanne decided to go to bed early. She lay in bed and watched the news. The last thing she heard before falling asleep was that
the Celtics lost to Detroit.

  Her house was almost unrecognizable, Roxanne thought as she stood on the threshold of the seldom-used great room. Normally the room’s size was intimidating. Tonight the giant Christmas tree, cascaded with white and silver ornaments, dominated the space and gave it the right proportion. It towered toward the twelve-foot ceiling, touching it with the tip of its star. The air smelled rich with the scent of pine. All around the room, evergreen garlands, holly, poinsettias and mistletoe hung. Roxanne sighed. She felt like a stranger walking into someone else’s holiday wonderland.

  Standing with her hands on her hips and nodding, she watched Bonnie place a dish of chocolates wrapped in red and green foil.

  “I’m glad I had the caterer take charge of the decorating. I couldn’t have done it this beautifully,” Roxanne said. She felt she had to justify the extravagance to Bonnie who had chided her on the expense.

  “It’s lovely, but it ain’t worth a five carat diamond-studded Rolex. Face it, we can’t afford to stay here and you wanted to go out of this house with a bang.” Bonnie shook her head, looking around.

  “Shhh.” Roxanne walked into the room. “The caterer’s help will hear you. They’re only in the next room.” She waved her hand in the direction of the dining room where they were setting up a buffet. “When in Rome, I always say. Besides, it didn’t cost that much for the decorating. I spent some of the money on my dress and other things.”

  Roxanne felt good about this party. In spite of a rocky beginning, her annual gala benefit would turn out well. In the face of Penelope’s best efforts to blackball the event, Roxanne still managed to sell more than enough tickets to justify the cost.

  “Better be some crankin’ dress. Too bad you don’t have any jewelry to wear with it,” Bonnie snorted. They both laughed at the irony and Roxanne decided it was time to go upstairs and dress. She turned and looked at the room over her shoulder. The warm inviting glow of the soft light melted her. She loved this room tonight. She embraced the notion that it was hers. She would cherish that thought. She needed to. It would be the last Christmas party she would ever throw here. Or possibly anywhere.