“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 l
egend 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 superhuman 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.”
“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 a
nd 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.”
Playing the Game Page 19