Winner Takes All

by Sandra Kitt

  “He’s right on time. Follow me,” she ordered Patrick. “I’m holding a seat for you.”

  He smiled, getting a kick out of her take-charge persona. He hadn’t seen it since the day he won the lottery and they’d walked right back into one another’s life.

  * * *

  Patrick stood next to his SUV, answering the occasional question about the expensive car, casually perusing the crowds as they slowly left the announcement space and drifted off in all directions into the surrounding community. The food stalls and trucks were packing up, and the police barriers were being loaded onto an NYPD supply vehicle to be taken back to storage. He kept his gaze following Jean as she continued her duties in wrapping up the mayor’s appearance in Queens. He had a little time to spare before heading to meet his guys for dinner. In that moment, he would have liked nothing better than to find a way to persuade Jean that they could spend the next few hours together. But he wasn’t going to do that.

  He watched as she went about doing what she had been doing all afternoon: chatting with several of the community board members and the candidate the mayor had come to support for a place on the city council. She gave directions to staffers, reviewed the itinerary with Brad for last-minute things to be done, and, finally, searched out Patrick and walked over to meet him. The business Jean was starting to turn off, and it was his Jean that met him next to his car.

  He pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head so she could see his eyes, filled with his warm regard for her.

  “Well done. I am in genuine awe.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I think you should apply for Foreign Service. Or the State Department. Maybe governor?”

  She laughed. “I’m flattered, but no thanks.”

  “Do you have a few more minutes?”

  She glanced toward the rest of her office entourage. They were just about ready to pile back into the company cars and return to city hall.

  “Just a few. I have to ride back with them. I’m still on the clock.”

  He walked around to the passenger side and opened the door for her. Jean climbed in. Patrick returned to the driver side, turning on the ignition so that he could run the air-conditioning. They faced each other, and he let his fingers rest on her shoulder, intimately brushing the skin. They both held their inclinations in check.

  “Who do I write the thank-you note to for letting me come today?”

  “No thanks needed. I’m sorry I couldn’t spend more time with you, but…”

  “This is no different than when you came to see me in action at the station. It was a great experience, Jean, and very eye-opening.”

  “I was concerned you’d get bored.”

  “Not hardly. And I met some interesting locals. Who was that funny little man with the umbrella? What was that all about?”

  She smiled. “Mr. Choi. He’s a local force to be reckoned with. He’s very funny. But he always gets what he wants by killing you with kindness and a smile. I like him.”

  “A natural politician. He knows how to work a gathering. What did he want?”

  “To make sure his block association is given enough police and sanitation coverage for the Korean Day Parade next month. What was that about a proposal that officer is sending to me?”

  “I didn’t know what to tell him. I didn’t expect a possible solicitation for support of his daughter’s Little League team.”

  “His daughter’s team? Girls rule.” Jean grinned, causing him to laugh.

  “I have a hard time saying no, and Ross gave me strict instructions on how to handle people approaching out of the blue wanting me to contribute to something.”

  “Good. He’s got your back.”

  “Yeah. And then there’s your office bike thing that Brad wants to get me involved with.”

  “I’ll have to talk to him about that. He had no right…”

  He gripped her shoulder, shaking it gently. “No, don’t. It’s for a good cause, and I haven’t committed to anything yet. He said the whole office was signing up.”

  “Yes,” Jean murmured, frowning.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I haven’t been on a bicycle since I was twelve or thirteen, maybe.” She nervously fingered her hair. Patrick grabbed her hand and held it.

  “You never forget how to ride a bike,” he teased.

  “Easy for you to say. You’re an athlete.”

  “If I sign up, maybe we’ll ride together. It could be fun.”

  “Maybe,” Jean said, looking into his eyes for more reassurance.

  Patrick loved that she might allow herself to depend on him. He wanted her to trust him. He glanced out the windshield. The city hall staff was loading up cars to return them to the office.

  “I guess you have to go,” he murmured, turning back to Jean. She only waited, watching, until he made the first move.

  He leaned in to kiss her, knowing full well Jean wanted him to. Easy task. He’d been waiting patiently all day himself. It was a potently intense kiss, their mouths and lips and tongues communicating far better than words ever could. She combed her fingers through his hair. He cupped the back of her head, holding her to him, kissing Jean with expertise—and need. Reluctant to let her go. Encouraging her to hold on to him as long as possible.

  A car horn gave two short blasts.

  Their lips slowly separated. They stared into each other’s eyes.

  “That’s me. I have to go.”

  “I’ll call you.”

  “Yes.”

  One more quick peck of a kiss, and she was out of his car, jogging gracefully to meet her coworkers.

  Chapter 11

  Good morning, everyone. We’re here at what will be the start of the New York Cares Bike-A-Thon, as it’s been billed. Organized out of the mayor’s office, the goal is to use the Bike-A-Thon to raise money that will support the city’s programs and services to help the homeless. For those of you well aware of this ongoing issue, the majority of people in homeless situations are women and children.

  “It takes the loss of a job or a serious illness to plunge families into financial ruin, even losing their homes. With me is Jean Travis, assistant director of the mayor’s Public Affairs Office, who will be one of the registered riders here today…”

  Jean smiled and answered all the questions for the field reporter from one of the networks. She wondered if Patrick was watching. She knew he would have been here, part of the event, and she would have been more than grateful for his company, above and beyond his support for the event. He couldn’t make it after all, and his excuse made perfect sense. It was a legal issue with his own network and terms of his contract. He could not be part of any public outreach venture that was not an ESPN effort. And there was a fine-print clause about doing anything during which he could be physically injured.

  “Sissy,” Jean had teased him when he informed her of the station’s decision, even as her heart sank and her disappointment made it race.

  “I’ll cop to that,” Patrick had said to her. “Jean, I’m so sorry. You know I’d be there if I could. If there was any other way…”

  “You don’t have to apologize. It would have been more front-of-camera and screen time for you. Your groupies could have raced to see who would be riding next to you…or they’d want to share their water bottles with you.”

  He had laughed uproariously. “I admit it’s all very tempting. Other than the great cause this event is for, there is only one other reason I’d ride a bike on the Henry Hudson Parkway, down the West Side Highway, to Battery Park on a hot Saturday at the end June: you and me riding together.”

  Jean nodded and chuckled agreeably in all the right places, answered all the questions she knew were coming, mentioned all the people who needed to be named for the sponsorship and support of the mayor’s initiative. The race was due to st
art in ten minutes, and her stomach was in a tight tangle of knots at the thought of riding for the next hour or more, some fifteen miles to the finish line.

  “I see you’re outfitted for the ride. Tell the audience about your gear.”

  As the camera came in for close-up shots, Jean pointed to the bright turquoise-blue T-shirt with Mayor’s Team NYC printed across the back. In front was a simple slogan from the program, Families First. Over the front was her riding bib with her rider number. She was wearing biking shorts, a black baseball cap, and dark glasses on a neck cord, her hair pulled into a ponytail through the back closure of the cap. Jean pointed out her water bottle, also emblazoned with the team name. All the team registrants were using their own personal bikes or had rented them.

  “And there you have it, folks. Everyone fully prepared to take part in this worthwhile event. And if you care to contribute to the bike event, you can go online to…” Jean finished her announcements.

  “How’s it going?”

  She turned to Brad, who, despite his hefty size and weight, looked for all the world like he was about to take part in the Tour de France.

  Jean grinned. “Is it over yet?”

  Brad laughed. “Yeah, I feel the same way. You’ll be fine.”

  She nodded. There were police officers all along the side of the starting line and would be for the length of the ride. There were volunteers also placed on the route to hand out water as the riders rolled by.

  Jean jumped when a foghorn blasted into the air. A cheer went up, and slowly, hundreds and hundreds of bikers began to move. Spacing out, finding their balance and their rhythm, as the swarm of colorful bikes and riders began the journey. Jean let a good number of the more aggressive riders pass her, finding a space among families with children who were sure to be going slower. She wasn’t going to race anyone. She just wanted to make it to the end.

  Jean concentrated on steering the bike, watching out for death-defying teenagers and the occasional jock just showing off his maneuvering skills. She stayed as far to the right of the bike traffic as she could, just like slow drivers in the far right lane on the road. She was finally below 116th Street. She had a flashing temptation to take the exit and call it a day. Some of the elderly riders and those riding with children were given special dispensation if they simply got tired and hot and wanted to bag the rest of the ride. She had no real intention of giving up. She was tired but had finally gotten to a point where she found the leisurely pace she’d set for herself enjoyable.

  Jean’s cell rang and vibrated. She pulled her bike over and carefully came to a stop, safely out of the way. She fumbled with her smartphone trying to respond to Patrick’s call, covering the earpiece with her hand for a tighter connection.

  “Jean? Jean, can you hear me?”

  “Yes, hi. It’s me.”

  “Hey. How are you holding up?”

  She chortled, using her forearm to wipe a trickle of sweat from her cheek. “Are we there yet? Can I go home now?”

  He laughed. “What street are you closest to?”

  She looked around. “I think I’m somewhere around Eighty-Sixth Street.”

  He whistled softly. “Still a ways to go.”

  “I know. I can do it.”

  “I know you can too,” Patrick said with quiet encouragement. “Listen, just be careful. Take your time.”

  “I will.”

  “I’m waiting for you.”

  “You are? Where?”

  “I’m at the finish line. I drove in from the station after my program this morning.”

  “Oh, Patrick…” Jean said, her voice cracking and filled with gratitude and much more.

  “Can you keep that in mind? Can you stay focused? Keep your eyes on the prize.”

  She chortled. “You?”

  “No, silly. The finish line.”

  * * *

  A little later, Patrick tried again to reach Jean on her cell. The calls had been going to voicemail for about an hour. He doubled his efforts by adding duplicate messages in text. No response.

  He began to pace, closely monitoring the bikers arriving at the finish line. Patrick worked at not letting his growing anxiety go off the rails.

  Hundreds of riders had already reached Battery Park; the fastest, the most fit, those who insisted that it was a race that had to be won, met cheering crowds just an hour after the ride had officially begun. It was now ninety minutes into the event.

  Patrick was beginning to form a plan. He’d figure out how to borrow a bike. He’d ride the streets up to about where he thought Jean should be by now. He’d explain to any NYPD officer who questioned him that his girlfriend hadn’t reported in yet, and he was worried. Patrick didn’t hesitate for a second over saying “his girlfriend” before just moving on. He’d come back to that thought later. He was going to secure a few bottles of water from the tent set up as Information Central and Administration, and he was going to get started on his own to find Jean.

  Patrick thought positively. If anything serious had happened, everyone would have known by now. He’d already asked. Any accidents? Anyone hurt…or requiring an ambulance? No.

  “It’s a hot summer day. It’s the weekend. No one cares when they get here,” one veteran volunteer casually assured Patrick when he questioned whether anyone ever went missing in action at these events. “Maybe she got tired and decided to go home. It happens all the time. Relax. If she said she’d meet you here, she will. We’ve never lost anyone yet,” she said, ending on a raucous laugh.

  * * *

  “Jean! Hey, Jean!”

  The sudden shouting of her name threw Jean off momentarily, and her bike wobbled a yard or two before she regained control. She hazarded a glance to her left but saw no one she knew. In another minute, a streamlined racing bike pulled up next to her, its rider expertly maneuvering the speed and steadiness of his ride. Jean looked again. It was Brian.

  “Hi…Brian.”

  “I didn’t expect to see you, of all people, here.”

  “Well…that makes two of us.” Jean frowned “I didn’t have a choice. I’m with the mayor’s office, remember? This charity event is his brainchild.”

  “Oh, right…” She watched as he pedaled a few feet ahead and then made a slow, arcing circle back to her side. “I hope you get paid overtime for dangerous work,” he said.

  He looked so fit and athletic in his spandex biker shorts and top. His hat, a tight-fitting cap with the brim turned upward; his eyes protected with expensive racing shades.

  “How are you doing? Okay?” Brian asked.

  “Yes. I…I’m fine. What are you doing here?”

  “I live in upper Manhattan. Not that far from the GW Bridge. My cousin and his family wanted to do the Bike-A-Thon and asked if I’d join them.”

  “Where are they?” Jean asked, having regained her pace and balance on her bike.

  Brian shrugged. “Who knows? Somewhere along the route. We agreed to meet at the finish line if we got separated. Why are you alone? Where’s Patrick?”

  They were going at a pace that suited her, and Brian had stopped doing figure-eight circles around her, settling into slow biking next to her.

  “He said his contract doesn’t allow him to take part in any physical activity where he might get hurt. He wanted to.”

  “He’s right. But I’m not sure I would have let someone I maybe care about go off and do this event alone.”

  Jean picked up on his tone and felt herself responding with annoyance that Brian would be critical of Patrick.

  “You’re not in the same position he is. I understand why he couldn’t.”

  He appeared to be staring at her through his dark, opaque lenses. “I think I would have bent the rules a little.”

  Jean was about to fire back with a more pointed answer about obligations, and integrity and hon
esty, when her bike hit an obstruction on the pathway, throwing her front tire to the left and causing the bike to tilt sharply to the side. In a panic, she realized she was going to hit the ground, the bike still in motion. She released the handlebars and put out both hands to break the fall. Her helmet slid forward over her eyes. Upon impact, Jean caught her breath, the instinctive reaction to getting hurt causing her mouth to go dry.

  Immediately, Brian was off his bike, coming to her aid, as were several other riders near enough to witness her fall. Jean was hauled to her feet, voices around her asking if she was all right. Stunned by what had happened, she could do no more than repeat, “I’m fine. I’m fine.” Slowly everyone drifted away as she tried to put herself to rights. She removed the helmet, her black cap coming with it, catching her breath and staying calm.

  “Sure you’re okay?” Brian asked, a hand cupping her elbow.

  “Yes. I’m good.”

  He looked down the path. “Look, we’re almost there. I can see the banner of the finish line. Maybe a half mile. Let’s walk it.”

  She silently nodded. She and Brian walked their bikes for a while before he finally spoke again.

  “So am I out of the running?”

  Jean’s insides twisted. This was the signal from Brian she’d been trying to avoid since the moment they first met. She looked around at the hundreds of bikers, the presence of police and curious bystanders, as if hoping for some miraculous response and solution to the tension between them.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I haven’t been subtle about my interest in you. I really hoped we could get to know each other. I’d still like to take you out sometime. Let’s see where that goes.”

  Jean swallowed and took a deep breath. She glanced briefly at Brian and back to the path. “I don’t think so. I’m flattered that you’re interested, but…I don’t feel the same way. I can’t imagine what I’ve done to make you think I would be, Brian.”

  “Sounds to me like you and Patrick really are more than just friends at this point.”

  “My relationship with Patrick is none of your business. And if you’re a good friend and his colleague, you’ll let this go. Besides, I don’t believe for a minute that you don’t have plenty of women you can choose from.”