The Game of Love

by Heather Graham

  Oh, did he deserve a ticket!

  “What a shame,” she retorted sarcastically. “But I don’t drink coffee, anyway. We’ll just have to speak to the nice officer coming our way.”

  “Fine,” he said pleasantly. “I’ll even let you start.”

  The officer was young and mustachioed and very pleasant.

  “What happened here?” he asked with a sigh, studying the positions of the cars and Jade’s driver’s license as she drew it out of her purse.

  “This gentleman ran a red light and hit me,” Jade said sweetly.

  “Officer, the light was yellow. This young lady streaked out right in front of me.” With a nice smile, the jock slipped his hand into an inner pocket, produced a handsome leather wallet and extracted his license.

  “Hmm.” The officer removed his cap and walked carefully around the cars. Horns were still blaring. “Oh, cut it out,” he mumbled to no one in particular.

  He stared down at the licenses and up at the two of them. Then, to Jade’s utter amazement, a smile lit his features.

  “You’re Jeffrey Martin? The Jeffrey Martin?”

  The man laughed easily. “Well, I am Jeffrey Martin. Whether I’m ‘the’ or not is up for grabs.”

  “Oh, wow! I watched you for years! Religiously. Boy, were you great. I’d heard you were coming down here to work. Wow! Can I have your autograph?”

  “Sure. Would you like it on a ticket, or on a piece of paper?”

  The young officer started laughing as if there were some great joke between the two of them.

  “Just paper, sir.”

  “Just paper!” Jade exploded. “But he hit me—”

  The officer removed his cap and scratched his head, gazing at Jade apologetically. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid you get the ticket. You’re out in the middle of the intersection.”

  “What?”

  By that time the jock—the Jeffrey Martin, whoever he was—was scribbling away on a piece of miniature memo pad snatched from his inner pocket. He didn’t look up. “I’m willing to forget the whole thing. You don’t really have to give her a ticket, do you?”

  Jeffrey Martin looked up and smiled very smugly at Jade. “There’s really no need to involve the insurance companies then.”

  “Well, Mr. Martin,” the officer said, “your car is damaged—”

  “A scratch on the bumper. It’s nothing.”

  “Well, my rear end is wrecked!” Jade wailed, still incredulous. “And it was your fault! Officer, don’t you see—”

  “I’d say your rear end will be just fine,” Jeffrey Martin replied smoothly, pulling his glasses idly from his face.

  She saw his eyes. They were blue, a sky blue, and they held a look of innuendo and amusement that almost made her slam her fists against her own car in frustration. She couldn’t believe this. She just couldn’t believe it.

  “You can keep your opinion of my rear end to yourself!”

  He arched his brows innocently. “The car really isn’t badly damaged.”

  “I’ll leave you two to settle this,” the officer said. “Just move the cars. No ticket, Mrs. McLane. Please be more careful in the future. Mr. Martin, thank you. Thanks a lot. I can’t wait to tell my kids and the wife!”

  To Jade’s total exasperation, that was it. The officer walked back to his car.

  She glanced at Jeffrey Martin just in time to see him slip his sunglasses back on. The amusement in his striking eyes was no longer visible, but there was still an irritatingly smug smile on his lips.

  “Do you drink tea instead of coffee?” he asked her.

  “Arrgh!” The sound escaped without her permission, as did a tangle of oaths that didn’t affect him in the least.

  “Hey!” he warned her, sliding from the hood of her car. “You’d better learn to be careful. This can be a rough city. Some people will shoot you just for yelling from a car. I take it tea is out, huh? Well, then, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get to work.”

  And just like that, he walked past her. She was left to stare after him in utter amazement.

  “Hey, lady! Move it!” one irate motorist screamed.

  “Mama mia, stupida!” someone else joined in.

  “Oh, stuff it,” Jade muttered, but she crawled back beneath the wheel of her injured Corvette. A moment later she was hurrying away from the scene of the accident.

  All the way down to Sunset, she swore wrathfully at Jeffrey Martin. She raved about men in general. She vowed to hang Sean upside down by his thumbs for forgetting his folder and causing the entire mess to begin with.

  But then it wasn’t really Sean’s fault, and she knew it. She had been running late this morning even before she’d noticed the forgotten math assignment. She had to calm down and forget the accident, get Sean’s folder to him and hope that Mr. Harrison would still be waiting.

  And then she had to pray that she could afford the repairs to the Corvette. The car was fifteen years old, and she’d hoped to get at least another year’s use out of it. She had always taken such good care of it.

  She parked outside the school and hurried down the hall to Sean’s homeroom class. She didn’t want to interrupt his teacher, and so she stood in the doorway for a moment until Sean noticed her. His teacher saw her at the same time and nodded permission for Sean to meet her in the hallway.

  Her tension eased somewhat as she watched him approach. Sean, she thought, was the one thing she had done right. At nine, he was tall and lean and handsome with beautiful crystal green eyes and shaggy blond hair. He was polite, easygoing and popular among his classmates. He also had an uncanny aptitude for sports, something that had frightened Jade ever since his father’s death. She knew, though, that she couldn’t keep a child from playing. Each time he took to the sports field, she choked back her feelings and displayed a plastic smile.

  “Ah, Mom, thanks,” he said, taking the folder from her. She smiled and tousled his hair while he looked at her searchingly. “You’re going to be late, aren’t you? For Mr. Harrison.”

  Sean was more aware of finances than a little boy should have to be, Jade thought. “I’m a little late. But it isn’t your fault. Some fool smacked into my car.”

  “The Corvette?”

  “It’s the only car I have, kiddo.”

  “Can it be fixed?”

  “Oh, yeah. It still runs. Listen, get back into class, okay?”

  He nodded. “Thanks again. Oh, Mom, don’t forget. It’s your day.”

  “My day for what?”

  “Practice. Little League. Remember? Mrs. Hodges drives the car pool Thursday; your day is Tuesday.”

  She stiffened; she couldn’t help it. But she put her plastic smile into place and said, “I won’t forget.”

  He scampered back into class. A minute later Jade was at her car, staring at the damage. She knew it was childish, but she kicked the tire, anyway.

  “Damned pin-striped irresponsible macho cheat,” she muttered. Oh. She felt sick. Here she was with a badly dented car while he had driven away with a scratched bumper.

  Jake took a deep breath and fought for control. She couldn’t change the events of the morning, so she might as well put them behind her. If she didn’t get to the office soon, she would miss Mr. Harrison and make a disaster out of the afternoon, too.

  Unfortunately, once she was behind the wheel again, she found she couldn’t forget the episode. She talked aloud to the absent Jeffrey Martin.

  “I hope your bumper falls off. I hope you get stuck in your office elevator. I hope your wife has an affair with her tennis instructor.”

  She decided not to go the way she had come and drove north through Coconut Grove instead. There, great banyan trees spread their branches over the road, and the landscape was rich with private homes and thick foliage. There was something soothing about the trees, about the shadows, about the image of a rich tropical jungle of flowers and mangrove roots, and the knowledge that the bay glittered just beyond the land to the right. Coconut Grove
was the oldest section of Miami. Its central area, Main Street, had changed with the times, and she smiled to think of it. When she was eighteen, the Grove had been a haven for flower children. Incense had filled the streets, and Nehru jackets were plentiful in the park. Nowadays, the shops were all very chic and very expensive. But sidewalk cafés still lined the streets, and the kids still came, because there was something a little magical about the Grove, no matter how it changed.

  Jade felt as if she could drive forever. With the radio on and the air conditioning emitting cool blasts of air, she wanted the road to go on indefinitely.

  All too soon, she had to turn on to LeJeune and head back to Ponce. It was time to face her office and reality.

  And a car that needed to be fixed, her appointment with Mr. Harrison and an early day—since she was car-pool mother.

  “Oh, Sean,” she said aloud, frowning. “Why couldn’t you have been a brilliant mathematician instead of a star pitcher? And who the hell is Jeffrey Martin, anyway?”

  Why had the cop fallen all over the man? Jade was certain that he wasn’t an actor or a rock star. She would have recognized him, or at least his name. But then who was he?”

  The man who wrecked my car and got away with it, she answered grimly.

  Before she could give the matter more thought, she had reached the little office marked Harvin Realty. She could see Mr. Harrison’s white Mercedes parked outside.

  Quickly, she put several quarters into the meter, absently straightened her hair and made her way through the front door to the room that served as both her office and the reception area.

  It was a nice room; she was proud of it. She had decorated it herself with plush beige carpeting and furniture she had found in antique shops and had restored herself. The windowpanes were stained glass;

  the coffee table was cherrywood, just like her desk. She had always felt that the antiques created an atmosphere where prospective clients would feel comfortable.

  Jade barely noticed the room now. Her eyes went directly to the dignified, white-haired man sitting in front of her boss, Sandy Harvin.

  “Mr. Harrison, I’m so sorry I’m late. I—”

  “Oh, traffic.” Mr. Harrison waved a hand in the air. “Quite all right. Sandy and I have been chatting. ‘Bout the old times, mostly. Don’t worry, Jade. I wouldn’t trust The Grange to anyone but you. If you’ve got your contract ready, I’ll just sign it now and be on my way.”

  A sweeping sensation of gratitude filled Jade at these words. After the morning she had endured, she felt ridiculously like crying, or throwing herself at the old man’s feet and swearing undying devotion.

  She managed not to do anything so foolish. She did take his hand. “Thank you. Thank you very much, Mr. Harrison. I’ll do my absolute best to find a buyer who will make you happy.”

  Harrison shrugged. “Well, the market is tough right now. I’m not expecting miracles.”

  Jade glanced at Sandy Harvin over Mr. Harrison’s head. Her boss’s shrug told her not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

  Jade sat down with Mr. Harrison, and half an hour later she had all the information she needed for the listing. She also had his signature on the all important contract.

  “I’m not living there anymore,” Mr. Harrison told her. “The place is just too much for me. Too big. Too many memories.”

  Jade cleared her throat. “I know what you mean,” she said softly.

  Ted Harrison had been a modern pioneer, coming to South Florida as a teenager in 1923. He and his wife, Melissa, had worked and struggled together. Together they had built the mansion that he called The Grange. Melissa had been dead for a year now, and Ted had decided that he didn’t want to live in their dreamworld without her.

  Jade had grown up just across the road from the two-acre waterfront spread, and she’d known the Harrisons all her life. She was certain that was why Ted was letting her sell his home. She was grateful; the asking price was two million. The commission could keep the wolf from her door for a long time.

  “So how are you doing with your own place, Jade?” Ted Harrison asked politely as he handed her the keys to The Grange.

  She smiled at him and gave a little shrug. “You know how old places are. Something is always falling apart.”

  He nodded sympathetically. “But you want to hang on to it?”

  Jade hesitated. “Yes, yes I do. The house was built in 1925, you know. And there aren’t many of those original homes left down here anymore. And besides, if—”

  Ted Harrison laughed. “If you sold ‘as is,’ you wouldn’t get much of a price. Then some developer would come in, turn it around, modernize and make a fortune. No, you hang on to that house of yours, young lady. One day it just might be the key to getting Sean through college. How’s the boy?”

  “Fine, thanks. Still awful in math, still great on the field.”

  “Well, don’t you worry too much about him. Everybody’s got a yen for something, and you’ve got to go with that yen.”

  He stood, still tall and proud and straight for all his seventy-five years. He placed a hand briefly on the top of her head. “His daddy’s accident was a fluke, you know. The boy’s gotta run; it’s in his blood. And he’ll be okay. The good Lord will see to that.”

  She felt a tightness in her throat, but she smiled despite it. “I know. Thanks again, Mr. Harrison. The commission on your house will help me a lot.”

  “I hope so, Jade. I hope so.”

  He left the office. For several seconds, Jade just stared at the door. Then she realized that Sandy was watching her from the doorway to his inner office, and she turned to him.

  His broad, fleshy face seemed to crinkle in a massive grin. “Well, Mrs. McLane, champagne lunch on me.” He crossed the few feet between them and gave her a bone-crunching hug. “Wow! We’re selling an historic landmark!”

  Jade laughed and hugged him in return. “Oh, but Sandy! We’ve got to find a buyer. And times are tough out there right now.”

  “Ah, but The Grange isn’t just any house.”

  “No, it needs someone with two million dollars to buy it.”

  “Tsk, tsk. Where is your sense of imagination and history? No matter how tight money is, you’ll find the guy who wants The Grange. It’s unique and special.”

  “Yes, it is. I wish I had two million dollars,” Jade said. “I wish I had two thousand!” she added glumly. “Sandy, do you want to hear what happened this morning?” Indignantly, she went on to tell him about how she had been hit, but when she came to the part about the traffic cop’s reaction, she couldn’t remember the man’s name. Sandy commiserated with her, offered to lend her money to fix her car, then reminded her that she was supposed to be showing the Hendersons an old Spanish home in North Gables. Jade gasped, appalled that she was going to be late again, and sped out.

  Sandy did take her out for a champagne lunch. A middle-aged bachelor, he was a bit of a fuddy-duddy, but Jade was often glad she had chosen to work for him instead of one of the real estate conglomerates. He was very kind to her; he understood the responsibilities of a single parent and never gave her a hard time about her hours or the emergencies that came along from time to time. Sandy had taken her in when she desperately needed work; he’d taught her all the ropes and became an important friend. Their lunch was very nice, and the champagne helped ease away the frustration of the morning’s accident.

  At three o’clock, just as she was about to leave for the day, the phone rang, and she made the mistake of answering it. It was the Herald, calling about a misprinted advertisement. By the time she had finished with the newspaper, she realized she was running late again.

  “And on the first day of the Little League season!” she moaned to herself, grimacing wryly when Sandy came out of his office to tell her the time.

  “Better get going,” he counseled.

  “Yes, I’d better.”

  It was a quarter to four before she picked up the boys, and by the time they reached the play
ing field things were already in full swing.

  From far across the field, Lynn Fremont, the team “mother,” waved to her. Jade smiled and waved back. The boys took off; she followed them more slowly.

  Lynn’s glasses were sliding down her nose as she made notations on the roster on her memo board; she gave Jade a weary smile.

  “How’d your day go?” Lynn asked.

  “A disaster. It’s a long, long story,” Jade said briefly, staring across at the fence where Lynn’s husband, Toby, the head coach, was scratching his head and trying to separate his team from the others. She smiled as she watched and asked Lynn, “The question is, how are you two managing?”

  Lynn tossed back her neat ponytail and laughed. “You won’t believe this, but we’re on top of the world. We’re going to have some incredible assistance this year.”

  “Really? Who? How? Why?”

  Toby and Lynn were two of Jade’s favorite people in the world. They both worked, shared in the raising of two sons and a daughter and still devoted endless time each year to a new Little League team. The major problem with Little League was the lack of parental interest. Too many people treated it like a baby-sitting service. Although Jade was incapable of hitting a beach ball with a bat, she’d served as a coach half a dozen times simply for lack of any more qualified volunteers.

  “We’ve got an old pro on our team!” Lynn answered excitedly.

  Jade grinned with amusement. “Who do we have? Joe DiMaggio?”

  Lynn shook her head. “DiMaggio. Is that the only name you know in baseball?”

  “Probably.” Jade grinned.

  “Well, there’s our hero over by the pitching mound.”

  She pointed down the field. There was a group of parents clustered beneath an oak by the home team bench. They all seemed to be pointing, too, toward the center of the diamond.

  Jade shielded her eyes from the sun with the flat of her hand. There was a tall man in shorts and an old football jersey there, showing a child how to pitch. Jade realized first that the child was Sean, and that he was gazing at the newcomer with something akin to awe. All that Jade could tell about the newcomer was that he had longish dark hair beneath the baseball cap he wore.