Devil's Advocate

by Devil's Advocate (lit)

  His phone rang again. He answered it with the same no nonsense manner, talking around the pizza in his mouth, and ended the call in a matter of seconds. He slugged back a long pull of Pepsi. “The dogs don’t get played with enough.”

  “When do you get your final grades?”

  “English, History and Biology will be posted tomorrow. I have to wait until next week for Calculus.”

  “Speaking of next week, have you thought about what you’re going to say at the luncheon?” His behavior was off. She couldn’t put her finger on anything other than the sudden secretive and unending phone calls, but something was definitely going on.

  “You just want me to talk about myself, right? Shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “When they see you. How much you’ve accomplished. How hard you’ve worked despite all the curves you’ve been thrown. They’re going to see how important this foundation is.” Haylie plopped down on the sofa and nudged his leg with her foot. “You’re like the poster child for possibilities and you could charm the pants off a cocker spaniel.”

  His phone rang again. “I better run,” he said. “Thanks for the grub.”

  Haylie watched him make his way toward the door. He may have an abundance of charm, but he sure wasn’t wasting any on her tonight. “You’re coming back here later?”

  “Probably.” He closed the door behind him without looking back.

  She cleaned up the pizza box and soda cans and had made it halfway to the kitchen with an armful of trash when her doorbell chimed. She shuffled the pizza box over to her hip and reached for the door, but an intuitive tingle zipped down her spine. She pressed her eye to the peephole and jumped away as if she’d been struck by a diamondback.

  Her lungs burned, blood roared through her ears, and a Pepsi can balanced on the pizza box rolled off and clattered to the floor. His hair had gone gray and lines carved his face, but she’d recognize her father anywhere.

  “I know you’re in there, Haylie. Open the door.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at the sliders, open to let the breeze in.

  “Leave or I’ll call the police,” she said, sliding the deadbolt on her front door into place.

  “Don’t be like that, Sunshine.”

  She trembled so hard the other Pepsi can slapped the floor and rolled across the tile. Slowly, she backed away from the door, put the pizza box down on the coffee table and bolted toward the sliders, to lock them.

  She ran back and grabbed the phone off the kitchen counter. “If you’re not gone in three seconds, I’m dialing 911!”

  “What the hell for?” He slapped his palms against the door, and she jumped back as if he’d struck her. “I ain’t ever laid a hand on you. You know that. And this bullshit act of yours is tired.”

  Haylie’s fingers shook as she keyed the phone on. The terms of his probation were meant to protect her, but she’d been a fool to think for a second a judge order would keep Carl Monroe from doing anything he wanted to do.

  “I just want to talk to you, Sunshine. I’m your daddy. You can’t pretend I ain’t. And you owe me!”

  The tone sang out as she pressed the nine. Her finger hovered over the one and she blinked back the tears that stung her eyes.

  “God damnit, Haylie. Don’t you try and throw me back in jail again. I done lost seventeen years of my life because of you.”

  “Go away! Or I swear to God…”

  “You were gonna do it anyhow!” he yelled. “Nobody hurt you!”

  Haylie pressed the one, as tears burned a trail down her cheeks and she fought to pull air into her lungs.

  “God damnit open the door!”

  “Rot in jail you bastard!”

  “Don’t do this to your mama! You want to tear her up again?”

  He knew her too well. He knew the guilt she carried and how her mother blamed her for ripping their family apart. Haylie threw the phone to the floor and hammered her fists against the door. “I hate you! Get away from me or I swear—”

  “We ain’t through.” The door jarred as he made contact with it again. “You hear me? I promised your mama this family would be together when I got out. And by God, you’re going to do your part. You hear me, Haylie? You better think hard before you fuck with me again.” The door shook, but silence followed.

  She sank to the floor and buried her face in her knees until enough minutes ticked by that she dared to believe he was gone. For now.

  Chapter 6

  Haylie crisscrossed the dining area of the Mandido Yacht and Country Club, winding around the tables adjusting centerpieces, double-checking place cards, anything to kill the final agonizing minutes before the luncheon guests arrived. Finally at a loss for a single thing to do, she stood in the center of the room.

  Beyond the plate glass windows, impressive boats bobbed at the dock. Glasses clinked in the sunken bar a level below the dining room, and the pianist played the first notes of his set. She checked her cell again. No missed calls. Not a word yet from Grady.

  Several dark suits stepped through the lobby doors and made their way toward the bar. Her heart hiccupped as a man Blake’s height with dark hair turned in her direction. Disappointment rose like a balloon in her chest. Blake wasn’t coming. He had to be in court.

  He’d only called once all week and said he was tied up with a case that would probably keep him busy until the weekend. His excuse might be feasible, but her gut told her something else had waylaid his pursuit. The story about her father in the paper would be enough to keep any man away.

  She wasn’t holding her breath for Blake to call. Like Ashlyn had said, plenty of women would jump at the chance to climb in his bed. He didn’t need someone from a family like hers.

  The maitre d’ led a group of cocktail laden, well-heeled gentlemen to their seats, and Haylie made her rounds, welcoming everyone individually. As the room filled, conversation buzzed and waiters delivered appetizers and drink orders. She checked her cell again, still no call from Grady.

  She slipped through the doors to the kitchen and tried calling him again. His phone went straight to voicemail. She took her place near the front of the room, next to the projector screen and kept an eye on the door, expecting him to make his entrance any second, laughing because he’d made her sweat. He hadn’t been thrilled about speaking today, but he wouldn’t just blow the foundation off. Of all people, he understood the need for what AL.F.A.A. offered.

  Seats filled and servers brought out entrées. If the presentation didn’t begin, she would lose half her audience before she had a chance to ask them for support. With or without Grady, the show had to go on.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen,” Haylie spoke directly into the microphone making eye contact with key individuals and plastering a smile on her face. “Thank you all for coming and for your support of AL.F.A.A.” After a brief opening, she launched the slideshow she had prepared and checked her phone. Still no word from Grady.

  The final slide clicked into place, the music ended, and Haylie took the microphone again. “To date the foundation has assisted one hundred and fifty young adults start off on the right foot, and with continued support from generous people like you, we can help so many more.”

  “How long before you expect these people to pull themselves up by the bootstraps and get their asses in gear?” Ed Marshfield swirled the amber bourbon in his glass and sat back with a sip as he waited for Haylie’s answer and the smattering of chuckles to die down.

  “AL.F.A.A. offers services for individuals age eighteen to twenty-one. However, we do extend those services for clients who choose to pursue higher education. As long as they are enrolled in school full-time, they qualify for the benefits of the foundation.” She paused to give him her most flattering smile. “There are countless hardships that could so easily deter a driven and capable individual from reaching education and career goals. For instance, Mr. Marshfield, as I’m sure you are aware, automobiles are one of life’s basic necessities here on our beautiful coast. Buses do
n’t run everywhere we need them to go. Most of us couldn’t depend on public transportation if we needed to. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Ed Marshfield cleared his throat and downed another sip of his drink.

  “How many used cars on your lot end up at auction for pennies on the dollar because they’re taking up more real estate than they’re worth?” She raised her brows for effect. “The tax benefits of donating those cars would probably outweigh the price you get from the brokers, wouldn’t it?”

  He cleared his throat, and nodded slowly. “They might.”

  She glanced around the room, ready to let the auto czar off the hook and caught Blake’s eye and smile. He leaned against a marble column in the back of the room, looking more gorgeous than a devil had a right to.

  She shifted back to her audience as heat crept up her neck and in the crevices beneath her arms. “There are ways everyone in this room can make a difference with a donation of time, or services, or…in Mr. Gentry’s case…money.” She added a wink to emphasize the playfulness of her suggestion. “Lots and lots of money.” She waited for the polite laughter to fade. “Two years from now, it is my goal that AL.F.A.A. will gain most of its funding through the State, but at present the only hope is in our hands. Together we can turn struggles into triumphs, dreams into realities, and give hundreds of overburdened individuals a real chance at starting careers for themselves that will bring even more prosperity and pride to this wonderful state we call home. Thank you all for your time.”

  She stepped away from the microphone as applause and conversation erupted in the room. She hadn’t seen Blake make his way toward her, but before she had taken more than a step he caught her by the elbow and led her down an aisle between the tables. “Nice arm twisting on Marshfield. I don’t think he knows what hit him yet.”

  “Maybe you can put in a good word with his daughter for me.” She kept her voice low and a soft smile planted on her lips.

  Blake’s eyes danced. “Do I sense a little jealousy?”

  “Your sensors are screwed. I’m serious. I need all the help I can get. If daddy’s princess puts a bug in his ear, maybe he’ll actually send some of those cars over.” His sensors weren’t nearly as screwed as she claimed, but the rest of what she said was true. She did need all the help she could get and providing transportation for her clients would take a huge burden off of them.

  Blake squeezed her arm gently. “There’s no telling what I’d have to do to get Melanie to agree to that.”

  She stopped near the first table she reached and turned to him. “Do whatever it takes.”

  A broad smile carved his face. “Are you pimping me out?”

  “If you’re sleeping with her anyway, it shouldn’t put you out any.” She paused to smile at Audra Denson, just beyond Blake’s elbow.

  “Green’s a good color on you,” he said with a laugh and then turned across the aisle to shake Ed Marshfield’s hand. “Ed. Good to see you. Haylie had a great idea with the cars, don’t you think?”

  “I wouldn’t have thought of it. Might be easier to write a check.” Ed’s laughter grumbled low in his chest and vibrated his large frame.

  “Might as well do both. You can’t let Gentry outdo you. He already tore you up on the course. I still don’t know how he got a birdie on seventeen. You sure he didn’t drop that ball off before we got there?”

  Haylie answered a question for Audra, and let Blake handle Ed Marshfield. He obviously knew how to put the squeeze on even better than she did. She didn’t like knowing he golfed with Melanie Marshfield’s father, but now wasn’t the time to let her emotions get in the way of business. Especially, since Grady hadn’t shown up to serve as a shining example of potential and achievement.

  “Where the hell’s Grady?” Blake whispered in her ear. She turned to see Ed Marshfield engaged in a raucous conversation with Charles Gentry and a handful of contemporaries.

  She shrugged. “Something must’ve come up.”

  “He didn’t show? No excuses? No phone call?”

  “I’m sure he had a good reason.” She hoped he had a good reason. This rash of irresponsibility from Grady had her concerned, but she wanted to give him the benefit of doubt. “I thought you were in court today.”

  “I persuaded the judge to see things my way a little more easily than I expected.” He guided her by the elbow toward the bar. “Why don’t we say goodbye to all these fine folks, and I’ll take you to lunch?”

  Her heart raced at his touch, but lunch wouldn’t stop with lunch, and if she didn’t want him in her heart, she had to keep him out of her bed. “Thanks for what you did with Ed Marshfield, but I can’t.”

  “Don’t thank me. I went on the AL.F.A.A. website, and I happen to think you’re heading up a really good cause. I’m glad to do what I can, including donations of money, services and possibly an internship or entry-level job if any of your clients are interested in law.” He reached for her hand and laced his fingers with hers. “Now, you really can’t have lunch with me, or you’re blowing me off?”

  His touch softened her reserve, but her eye caught a familiar figure seated at the bar. Carl Monroe grinned at her over the rim of his glass and tossed back a shot of whiskey.

  Blake caught her as she stumbled, one hand firm in the curve of her back the other on her waist. “Honey? Are you ok?”

  She nodded and regained her footing.

  “You look like you just saw a ghost.” He jerked his head to the bar, but her father had already made his way to the door. Haylie gripped Blake’s arm for support and reassured him she was fine.

  She could have her father arrested for violation of probation, but not without having security detain him, and she wouldn’t risk having her luncheon guests witness any altercation. But of course, Carl Monroe had banked on that.

  * * * *

  “I got you a present!” Grady’s voice cut through the silence of Haylie’s condo as the front door swung open. He held a large brown paper sack in both hands with what looked to be a bag of pet food sticking out of the top.

  “I missed you at the luncheon.” She stirred fresh clams into a gently bubbling cream sauce and tapped the wooden spoon on the side of the sauté pan.

  “Oh shit. Was that today?” He set the sack down on the kitchen counter and pilfered a slice of cucumber off the top of the salad.

  “You didn’t forget, Grady.” She reached for a bunch of fresh parsley and her kitchen shears. “Your mind’s a steel trap. You don’t forget anything. First soccer with the kids and now this?”

  She understood his insecurities, his need to be selfish, his issues with trust. She knew one wrong word could send him flying, and there would be no guarantee he’d come back. She understood Grady because they were one and the same. But he needed to be held accountable.

  His eyes darted away from hers. “Wait right there. I brought you something. You’re gonna love it.” He snagged another cucumber slice and ran out the door.

  She concentrated on the herbs that fell like confetti into the clam sauce and debated how far to push him for an explanation. A tiny part of her was glad he hadn’t spent a single second in the same room as her father, but whatever had him going so hard against his grain worried her half to death.

  Heavy, excited breaths preceded the flurry of legs, black fur that pulled Grady through the open doorway. Grady held the leash, but it was obvious who was leading whom. The dog romped toward the smell of food, nails clicking on the kitchen tile and drool dripping from its flapping tongue.

  Haylie jumped back, and grabbed the wooden spoon to defend herself. Stopped by the leash, the overactive beast reared on his hind legs in an attempt to get to her or the clam sauce, she wasn’t sure which.

  “He thinks you smell good.” Grady laughed. “Down boy. Sit.” The dog settled down on the floor and turned back to lick one of his rear legs where a bandage wound around the thin limb. “Stop that.” Grady distracted the animal with a rub on the head. “You mess with that bandage and you’
ll be walking around with that dumb looking plastic cone around your neck.”

  The dog licked Grady’s hand and thumped his tail against the floor.

  “The clams!” Haylie turned off the flame below the sauce and gave the dish a stir. The dog belly-crawled over to her and sniffed at her bare toes. She watched warily then jumped as a sloppy pink tongue came down on the top of her foot.

  “Where did you find this drool machine?” she asked.

  “He’s the one that bit Ashlyn.” Grady bent to stroke the dog along its back. “As of today he’s a free man. Sprung from the solitary confinement of quarantine.”

  “He acts like he’s known you for years.”

  “We spent all day getting to know one another.” He inclined his head toward the animal. “Pet him.”

  “He bites.”

  “No he doesn’t. He was hurt and hungry and scared. Everyone at the vet’s office fell in love with him.”

  The dog looked up at Haylie with the skin above his eyes pushed into a pleading pout.

  “Look at that face.” Grady laughed. “Man, he’s got the moves. He had girls all over him at the park with that.”

  Haylie lost the will to resist and dropped to her knees. She extended her hand slowly and cringed as her fingers met with a dripping tongue bath. “He looks like he got in a fight with a lawn mower.” Multiple shaved areas along the dog’s body revealed injuries and sometimes stitches on the bared skin.

  “He was messed up pretty bad,” Grady told her. “The vet thinks somebody abused him, but he still likes people too much to have been abused by every owner he’s had. Besides, all the injuries look pretty new. And it’s a good thing we found him when we did. He wouldn’t have made it long out on his own like that.”

  “When do you have to take him back?”

  Grady looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “I’m not taking him back. He’s yours.”

  She sat back on her heels and scooted away. “Oh no. I’m not taking in this dog. Or any other dog.”

  The dog eased forward, sliding himself along the floor, and peering up at her with his pleading eyes.