Simply Irresistible

by Rachel Gibson

  Raw gutter talk and the steady slur-slur-slur of skates filled John’s ears as he zigzagged down ice. The sleeves of his practice jersey fluttered as he swerved through human traffic. He kept his head up, and the puck sailing close to the blade of his stick. He could feel a rookie third-line defenseman breathing down his neck, and in order to avoid getting knocked into the cheap seats, he shot a high-wrister past Hugh Miner on the short side.

  “Eat that, farm boy,” he said as he put his weight on the edges of his skates and stopped abruptly in front of the goal. A fine spray of ice powered Hugh’s pads.

  “Blow me, old man,” Hugh grumbled, and reached behind him for the puck. He tossed it toward the other end of the rink, then crouched again and banged his stick on the red posts and cross bar, gaining his bearing without taking his eyes from the scrum.

  John laughed and skated back into the free-for-all. When the practice was over, he felt bruised from battle, but happy to be back in the war. Later in the locker room, he handed his skates to a trainer to be sharpened for the next day and took a shower.

  “Hey, Kowalsky,” an assistant coach called from the doorway to the locker rooms. “Mr. Duffy wants to see you when you’re dressed. He’s with Coach Nystrom.”

  “Thanks, Kenny.” John tied his shoes, then pulled a green T-shirt with a Chinooks logo over his head and tucked it inside his blue nylon sweatpants. His teammates wandered around the room in various stages of undress, talking hockey, contracts, and the new rules the NHL had instated for the coming season.

  It wasn’t unusual for Virgil Duffy to ask John to meet him, especially when the team’s general manager was out of state scouting for new talent. John was the captain of the Chinooks. He was a veteran player, and no one knew hockey better than the men who had played it for thirty years. Virgil respected John’s opinion, and John had come to respect the owner’s business acumen, even if at times they didn’t agree. At the moment they were debating a second-line enforcer. Good enforcers didn’t come cheap, and Virgil didn’t always want to pay millions for a limited player.

  As John made his way to the front offices, he wondered how Virgil would react when he learned of Lexie’s existence. He didn’t figure the older gentleman would be real pleased, but he didn’t fear being traded anymore. Although he wouldn’t completely rule out the possibility. Virgil tended to be a hot reactor. The longer it took for Virgil to hear of what had transpired seven years ago, the better. John wasn’t purposely keeping Lexie a secret, but he figured there was no need to rub Virgil’s nose in it either.

  He thought of Lexie and frowned. Since that morning in Cannon Beach a month and a half ago, Georgeanne had kept Lexie from him. She’d hired a lipstick-wearing pit bull for a lawyer who’d insisted on a paternity test. They’d stalled the test for weeks, then on the day the court-ordered test was to be performed, she’d done an about-face and had signed a document legally acknowledging paternity. With a stroke of Georgeanne’s pen, John was legally declared Lexie’s father.

  A home examiner had been appointed to interview John and inspect his houseboat. The same examiner had talked to Georgeanne and Lexie and had recommended several short introduction visitations between father and child before John would be allowed to keep Lexie for longer periods of time. At the end of the introduction period, John would receive the same custody awarded fathers in a divorce situation, only he didn’t even have to appear before a judge. Once Georgeanne had legally acknowledged John as Lexie’s father, everything began to move rapidly.

  John’s frown hardened. But for now, Georgeanne still had him by the short and curlies. He wasn’t getting any pleasure out of the experience, but Georgeanne obviously liked her grip. Well, she’d better enjoy it while it lasted, because in the end, what Georgeanne wanted wasn’t going to matter very much. She didn’t want him to pay child support or his share of Lexie’s day care and medical insurance. Through his lawyer, he’d offered generous support, plus full day care and insurance. He wanted to support his child and was willing to pay for whatever she needed, but Georgeanne had refused everything. According to her attorney, she didn’t want anything from him. In the end it wasn’t going to matter. The lawyers were in the final stages of dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s. Georgeanne would have to take what he offered.

  He hadn’t seen or talked to Georgeanne since that morning at the beach house when she’d freaked out over nothing. She’d blown everything way out of proportion, calling him a sneaky liar when he hadn’t really lied to her. Okay, maybe that first night when she’d come to his houseboat he might have lied by omission. So they’d agreed not to hire attorneys, but he’d already hired Kirk Schwartz two hours before she’d showed up on his doorstep. He’d already had a basic idea of his rights even before he’d talked to her that night. Maybe he should have told her, but he’d figured she’d just get pissed off and try to keep Lexie from him. And he’d been right. But even now, he wouldn’t change what he’d done. He’d needed to know. He had to know his legal options in case Georgeanne moved or married or refused to let him see Lexie. He’d wanted to know who was listed as Lexie’s father on her birth certificate. He’d wanted information. His future with Lexie was too important not to know his legal rights.

  The image of Lexie standing in the kitchen at his house in Cannon Beach was still vivid in his mind. He remembered the confusion on her face, and the bewildered look in her eye when she’d glanced over her shoulder at him as Georgeanne had dragged her down the sidewalk. He hadn’t wanted her to hear about him that way. He’d wanted to spend more time with her first. He’d wanted her to find as much joy in the news as he had.

  He didn’t know what she thought now, but he would shortly. In two days he would see her for his first short visit.

  John entered the coaches’ office and shut the door behind him. Virgil Duffy sat on a Naugahyde couch, wearing a linen suit from Fifth Avenue and a tan from the Caribbean.

  “Look at that,” Virgil said, pointing to a portable television screen. “That kid’s made of cement.”

  Sitting behind his desk, Larry Nystrom didn’t look as enthused as the owner. “But he can’t hit the lake from the dock.”

  “He can be taught how to shoot the puck. You can’t teach heart.” Virgil looked at John and pointed toward the screen. “What do you think?”

  John sat on the other end of the couch from Virgil and glanced at the television just in time to see a rookie Florida Panther nail Philly Flyer Eric Lindros to the boards. The six-four Lindros took his time getting to his feet before slowly skating to the bench. “I can tell you from personal experience that he hits high, like a linebacker. And he hits hard, but I’m not sure he has seed. How much?”

  “Five hundred thousand.”

  John shrugged. “He’s probably worth five, but we need a guy like Grimson or Domi.”

  Virgil shook his head. “Too much.”

  “Who else are you looking at?”

  Virgil hit the fast-forward button and together the three men reviewed other prospects. The team trainer brought in a stack of paper and sat across from Nystrom. While the video played, the two men went over each sheet.

  “Your body fat is less than twelve percent, Kowalsky,” the coach commented without looking up.

  John wasn’t surprised. He couldn’t afford to let weight slow him down anymore, and he’d worked hard to keep it off. “What about Corbet?” he inquired of his teammate. The Chinooks right winger had reported to training camp looking as if he’d spent his summer rooting around an all-you-can-eat barbecue pit.

  “Good God!” Nystrom swore. “He’s twenty percent fat!”

  “Who is?” Virgil asked, and hit the stop button. The tape ejected and a local station flashed a Pampers commercial on the screen.

  “That damn Corbet,” the trainer answered.

  “I’m going to have to light a fire under his lard ass,” the coach threatened. “I’ll have to suspend him or send him to Jenny Craig.”

  “Get him a trainer,”
John suggested.

  “Get him on one of Caroline’s diets,” Virgil suggested. “When she goes on one of her diets, she gets real cranky.” Caroline was Virgil’s wife of four years, and only a decade younger than her husband. As far as John could tell, she was a nice woman, and they seemed happy together. “Give him a cup of white rice and two ounces of dry chicken before each game, then sit back and watch him kick ass.”

  The Pampers commercial ended and a voice John hadn’t heard in almost two months spoke to him from the television. “You made it back just in time,” Georgeanne said from the twelve-inch screen. “I’m about to add a shot of sin, and y’all don’t want to miss this.”

  “What the hell…” John muttered, and sat forward.

  Georgeanne picked up a bottle of Grand Marnier and poured about a shot into a bowl. “Now, if you have children, y’all will want to set aside a bit of the mousse before you add the liqueur, or liquid sin as my grandmother used to refer to all alcoholic beverages.” Her tilty green eyes looked into the camera and she smiled. “If you must abstain from alcohol for religious reasons, are under the age of twenty-one, or if you prefer your sin served straight up, you can choose to forgo the Grand Marnier altogether and add a little grated orange peel instead.”

  He stared at her, like a dumb mesmerized rodent, remembering the night he’d served her a big dose of straight-up sin. Then the next morning, she’d whacked him with a stupid little doll and had accused him of using her. She was a lunatic. A vindictive crazy woman.

  She wore a white blouse with a big embroidered collar and a dark blue apron that tied around her neck. Her hair was pulled back from her face, and little pearls dotted her earlobes. Someone had made an effort to subdue her overblown sexuality, but it didn’t matter. It was all there. It was there in her seductive eyes and full red mouth. Surely he wasn’t the only one who could see it. She looked ridiculous, like a Bay Watch babe playing at a cooking show. He watched her spoon mousse into little porcelain pots and keep up a steady stream of chatter at the same time. When she finished, she raised her hand, parted her lips, and sucked chocolate from her knuckles. He scoffed because he knew, he just knew, she was doing that shit for ratings. She was a mother, for God’s sake. Mothers of a young daughters shouldn’t behave like sex kittens on television.

  The television suddenly went black, and John became aware of Virgil for the first time since Georgeanne’s face had flashed on the screen. The owner looked stunned and a little white beneath his tan. But other than shock, his face gave nothing away. Not anger, nor rage. Not love, nor a sense of betrayal, for the woman who’d left him at the altar. Virgil stood, tossed the remote on the couch, and without a word, walked out the door.

  John watched him go, then turned his attention to the other men. They were still in a discussion about body fat. They hadn’t seen Georgeanne, but even if they had, John wasn’t sure they would realize who she was. Who she was to him. Who she was to Virgil.

  * * *

  Georgeanne felt as if she were falling. She’d taped six shows, and the feelings got only slightly better each time. She told herself to relax and have fun. She wasn’t on live television, and if she messed up, she could stop and start over. But still, her nerves churned in her stomach as she looked into the camera and confessed, “I don’t know if y’all know this, but I’m from Dallas- the land of big hats and big hair. I’ve studied cuisine from all over the world, but I earned my spurs cooking Tex-Mex. When most people think of Tex-Mex, they think tacos. Well, I’m going to show you something a little different.”

  For over an hour, Georgeanne chopped mangoes, chilies, and tomatoes. When she was finished, she pulled an already-prepared, simple yet elegant dinner with a Texas theme out of the oven. “Next week,” she said, standing beside a vase of black-eyed Susans, “We’re going to take a break from the kitchen, and I’m going to show you how to personalize your picture frames. It’s real easy to do and a lot of fun. See y’all then.”

  The light on top of the camera blinked off, and Georgeanne let out a deep breath. Today’s taping hadn’t gone too badly. She’d only dropped the pork loin once and read the words wrong three times. Not like the first show. The first show had taken seven hours to tape. It had already aired a few days ago, and she was so positive that her chocolate mousse had bombed with the viewers that she hadn’t the nerve to watch it herself. Charles had seen the show, of course, and had insisted that she wasn’t boring and didn’t look fat and stupid. She didn’t trust him not to humor her.

  Lexie stepped over several cables taped to the floor and walked toward Georgeanne. “I gotta go to the bathroom,” she announced.

  Georgeanne reached behind her back and untied her apron. She was wired with a portable microphone.

  “Give me a few minutes and I’ll take you.”

  “I can go by myself.”

  “I’ll take her,” a young production assistant offered.

  Georgeanne smiled her gratitude.

  Lexie frowned and took the assistant’s hand. “I’m not five anymore,” she grumbled.

  Georgeanne watched her daughter go and pulled the apron over her head. One of the conditions to her doing the show was that she be allowed to bring Lexie to the tapings. Charles had agreed and had given Lexie the title of “creative consultant.” Lexie helped with ideas, and she came to the studio and helped Georgeanne prepare the finished dishes beforehand.

  “You were great today,” Charles greeted her as he emerged from the back of the studio. He waited until her microphone was taken away before he put his arm around her shoulders. “Viewer response from the first show looks real good.”

  Georgeanne gave a sigh of relief and looked up at him. She didn’t want him to keep her show because of their personal relationship. “Are you sure you’re not just saying that to be nice to me?”

  He placed his mouth at her temple. “I’m sure.” She felt his smile when he said, “If your numbers stink, I promise I’ll fire you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He kissed the side of her head, then pulled back. “Why don’t you and Lexie have dinner with me and Amber?”

  Georgeanne grabbed her purse from behind the kitchen counter that served as part of the studio set. “Can’t. John is picking up Lexie tonight for their first visit.”

  Charles’s brows drew together over his gray eyes. “Do you want me to be there with you?”

  Georgeanne shook her head. “I’ll be okay,” she said, but she didn’t think she would. She was afraid that after Lexie left, she’d fall apart, and she wanted to be alone if she did. Charles had been a very good friend, but he couldn’t help her now, not this time.

  Three days after her return from Cannon Beach, she’d told Charles about the trip. She’d told him everything except the part about the sex. He hadn’t been happy to hear she’d spent time with John, but he hadn’t asked a lot of questions either. Instead, he’d given her the name of his ex-wife’s attorney and reoffered the half-hour television show. She’d needed the money and had accepted with the conditions that the shows be taped instead of live and that Lexie be welcome to accompany her.

  A week later, she’d signed a contract.

  “What does Lexie think about spending time with her father?”

  Georgeanne hooked her leather bag over her shoulder. “I don’t really know. I know she’s a little confused about her last name now that it’s Kowalsky. She has a hard time spelling it, but other than that, she doesn’t say much.”

  “She doesn’t talk about him?”

  For several weeks after Lexie had learned that John was her father, she’d been cold and distant toward Georgeanne. Georgeanne had tried to explain why she’d lied, and Lexie had listened quietly. Then she’d directed all of her anger at her mother, hurting them both before letting it go. Their lives would never be the same. But for the most part, she was the same little girl now that she’d been before she’d learned of John. Although there were also times when she was unusually quiet.
Georgeanne didn’t have to ask her what she was thinking, she just knew. “I’ve told her John was coming to pick her up for a visit tonight. She didn’t say much about it, just asked when he’d bring her back home.”

  Lexie returned from the bathroom and the three of them walked from the studio toward the front entrance of the building. “Guess what, Charles.”

  “What?”

  “I’m in the first grade. My teacher’s name is Mrs. Berger. Like hamburger without the ham. I like her ‘cause she’s nice and ’cause she gots a gerbil in our classroom. He’s brown and white and has little tiny ears. Everyone named him Stimpy. I wanted to name him Pongo, but I didn’t get to.” She kept up a steady stream of chatter all the way through the building and out into the parking lot. But in the car on the drive home, she was very quiet. Georgeanne tried to talk to her, but she was clearly distracted.

  From a block away, Georgeanne noticed John’s Range Rover parked in front of her house. She saw him sitting on her front porch, his feet apart and his forearms resting on his thighs. She pulled her car into the driveway and glanced over at the passenger seat. Lexie stared straight ahead at the garage door and sucked her top lip between her teeth. Her little hands tightly gripped the clipboard Charles had given her so she could write down her ideas for future shows. On the paper she’d drawn several misshaped cats and dogs and had written the words “pet sho.”

  “Are you nervous?” she asked her daughter, feeling her own butterflies take flight.

  Lexie shrugged.

  “If you don’t want to go, I don’t think he’ll make you,” Georgeanne said, hoping she spoke the truth.

  Lexie was silent for a while before she asked, “Do you think he likes me?”

  Georgeanne’s throat constricted. Lexie, who was always so sure of herself, always so sure that everyone just automatically loved her, wasn’t so sure of her daddy. “Of course he likes you. He liked you the very first time he saw you.”