Players

by Rachel Cross

  “Is she still in school?” Graciela asked.

  “Yeah, that much I know. She switched her major to marketing and she seemed pretty excited about that.”

  The credits for the novela rolled and Mia clicked back to local television. She Said, She Said was wrapping up, and with not much else to do, they watched Gretel, Tess, and Samantha, the fun, mismatched trio who hosted the popular local talk show. Today they were talking about politician’s personal lives and a picture of Jake Kelly came on. Keila squirmed in her seat.

  “Madre mia, no wonder you remembered him,” Graciela remarked.

  “Why do you suppose mayoral candidate Jake Kelly has refused to come on our talk show, even though we’ve repeatedly invited him?” Gretel, the most serious, asked. With her sleek, slate grey pin-striped suit, she looked more like a high-powered attorney than a journalist.

  “I think he’s afraid of us, and we just want to get to know him a little better,” Samantha, smiled innocently. She was dressed in a pink sundress and Keila almost gagged at the “daddy’s little princess” outfit.

  “Oh, I think he’s terrified,” Tess, the oldest and the most outrageous, agreed. With her feet curled under her long skirt, her wild, long silver hair falling over her shoulders, she seemed the youngest in spirit. “And since it appears he’s decided to stay the heck away from us, I guess we’ll just have to piece his personality together with what little details we have,” she sighed, but her demeanor promised more fun to come.

  “We received a press release about him today,” Gretel held up a piece of paper, “A paragraph about him hiring a musician to help him with one of his crusades, and though we do admire his zeal for the city—”

  “That’s me!” Keila yelped, surprised and delighted.

  “We didn’t really finish reading it. Just more black and white mumbo jumbo when what we want is to hear him describe his love for our city right here, in his own words.” Gretel crumpled the paper up and Graciela gasped, indignant.

  “But, we were then emailed photos of him and this new musician, and boy, did that catch our attention.” Tess pretended to fan herself and every muscle in Keila’s body tensed, wondering what in hell they were talking about.

  Then, full screen pictures of her and Jake Kelly at Chicago SummerDance began to play. “Holy Mary Mother of—” Tania began.

  “Tania, don’t . . . ” Graciela’s stern voice berated, but less than a second later she was transfixed by the images on the TV. There Keila and Jake were, looking deep into each other’s eyes while holding each other close. The air stuck painfully to Keila’s lungs and she struggled to breathe as she watched. In one particular picture, it looked as if he were getting ready to kiss her and like she was just begging to be kissed. She shot up off the couch, feeling hot and uncomfortable.

  “So that’s how he was looking at you. Cool, this is at least PG-13,” Mia breathed out, her spoon halfway to her mouth.

  Dizzy from not breathing, Keila managed to tear her eyes from the TV to look at Robbie and sputtered, “Did you—”

  “I didn’t!” Robbie’s hands shot up, eyes wide.

  “Jake Kelly, we knew you ran hot rather than cold! Care to come on the show and tell us a little more about these photos? Chicago just wants to get to know you,” Samantha beckoned.

  “Well, viewers, you know we always end the show with a bang, but be sure to stay tuned to your local news next. We hear Jenna Kushner has some interesting footage she recorded today during a press conference at Jake Kelly’s campaign headquarters. You’ll never believe who stole the show.” Tess sing-songed the last sentence.

  Horror-stricken, Keila couldn’t seem to do anything except stare at the television set again. She knew exactly who’d stolen the show. Her phone buzzed and she looked down, gulping, and quickly read the text message from Cate: Is there something you forgot to tell me???

  • • •

  It was almost six and Jake and Tyrone were still working at Jake’s campaign headquarters. When Filip invited them across the street to have tacos and nachos with some of the local kids, they quickly agreed, knowing Filip wouldn’t leave until he was sure they’d eaten.

  Alana, Filip’s wife of forty-five years, had passed away last year, and he was never in a hurry to go home anymore.

  “I want you to know that Keila is an amazing young woman. You’ll enjoy working with her,” Filip remarked as they crossed the street.

  Keila. Keila Diaz. Or Miss Diaz as Jake planned on calling her. He needed to put that distance between them.

  Something about her disturbed his sense of control. Jake knew that men who let women have any kind of power over them ended up failing in their commitments. His own father had taught him that lesson well, by abandoning his family and devastating his wife one too many times over nothing more than a speck of lust.

  “I’ll only need three meetings, about two hours each, to pick her brain. I don’t need to enjoy working with her,” Jake finally replied.

  “Still. I know you like to surround yourself with loyal, honest people, and that’s my Keila.”

  My Keila? Did Filip adopt everyone?

  They reached the entrance and the spicy scent of South Side Taqueria wafted out to beckon them in. “Did you tell them to put the order on my tab?” Jake asked, suddenly remembering Filip liked to treat the kids with his own money.

  “My fireman’s pension is more than enough to treat these kids to a fun meal now and then. It makes me feel useful. You are not a real man if you can’t find a way to be useful to your community.”

  Though Jake didn’t want his friend spending his own money, he understood. Filip often told him about his family’s roots in Chicago. From the very beginning, Nowaks had a proud history of doing honest work and being helpful to their community. They’d worked on everything from the Michigan Canal, the railroad, the steel mills, and the lumber wharves to the public school system, and the police and fire departments. Jake knew Filip wouldn’t be happy if he didn’t feel he was personally contributing.

  They sat down at the rec room table Tyrone had claimed and Jake welcomed the noisy atmosphere. A couple of kids were playing air hockey, and a few teen girls were sitting around watching the annoying women of She Said, She Said. Still others were just hanging out, their homework already completed with the help of volunteer tutors.

  “So, tell me, when are you both finally going to find good girls to marry and make happy homes and happy babies?” Filip asked, before biting into a soft chicken taco.

  “Never,” Jake answered.

  “In five years, when I’ve won enough high profile races and CNN hires me as a senior political analyst. I’ll move to the Atlanta suburbs, teach political science at a local college, marry a seriously smart, seriously hot woman, and have a house full of beautiful babies. I’ll invite you two down and we can sit by my pool and barbecue,” Tyrone answered, seriously.

  Jake and Tyrone had met as freshmen. Tyrone had had a twenty year plan. So far he was on year fifteen, and on track.

  “So Jake, am I to die and not see your children?” Filip asked.

  “Yes, you and my mother both. You can shake your heads at me from the great beyond and have long discussions about what’s wrong with me,” Jake answered.

  For a moment, Filip just concentrated on his taco. Finishing it off, he wiped his hands and more thoughtfully said, “My father used to smoke rich, sweet smelling Arturo Fuente cigars he’d buy at Old Town every once in a while, when he felt he deserved to indulge. After he died, there were several times when I wasn’t sure what my next step in life would be and I wished badly he could be there, to help guide me. I tell you the scent of those particular cigars would reach me at those times and suddenly, I knew what I needed to do. How am I going to reach you, Jake, when I’m no longer here? The good Lord knows you need more help than I ever did.”

  “I don’t know, Filip,” Jake smiled at his friend. “I’m not sure what scent reminds me of you.” He pretended to take a whiff and
said, “Bengay, maybe? With . . . a hint of Vicks VapoRub? It’s not exactly the sweet smell of cigars, Filip, but I guess it’ll have to do.”

  Tyrone laughed out loud and Filip chuckled, shaking his head at the lost cause that was Jake. But Jake put his taco down, swallowing uncomfortably. Hearing Filip discuss his death so casually made him lose his appetite.

  The older man had been in his life since Jake was a boy. He’d been seriously injured in the line of duty during a warehouse fire years ago, but he’d been unwilling to stop working altogether. Jake’s father had hired him as the superintendent of one of his buildings; the one Jake and his mother inhabited on Chicago’s Gold Coast. Though Jake had been just ten, they had become fast friends, with Jake following limping Filip everywhere.

  Fixing leaky pipes and broken locks, painting, finding short circuits, and everything else Filip had been hired to do had been far more interesting to Jake than any video game.

  And seeing the pride Filip took in every job, and listening to his ideas of what a man should be made him think hard about his own decisions and his future.

  Now, laughter from one end of the room brought Jake back to the present and to his taco. He tried to take a bite.

  “Dang Jake, that’s hot!” a voice rang out.

  “Muy caliente!” Another called. A few whistled.

  Jake turned to see what they were talking about. His mouth went instantly dry and he again found he was unable to swallow.

  There, on the large screen, was a picture of him and Keila. He was leaning toward her and looking into her eyes. The taco crumbled in his hand as four sensuous and captivating pictures of two people completely into each other alternated on the screen.

  The images on the screen now gone, Jake couldn’t hear what the women of She Said, She Said were saying because the entire rec room had erupted into cat calls and whistles.

  “Is there, uh, something you forgot to tell me?” Tyrone asked.

  • • •

  Later that night, after Graciela and Mia had gone to bed, Tania and Keila Googled Jake Kelly. Keila had been away almost three years and she really didn’t know anything about the Chicago political scene and its players.

  The shock of having been on She Said, She Said and on a small segment of the evening news had not worn off, but she did feel better about it because Cate had been right; the fact that Jake had hired her despite her very vocal disagreement during his press conference seemed to have gone over well. Both newscasters had commended him for it.

  And Tania had assured her that though the press would be curious about those pictures and what her real relationship with Jake was for a few days, the attention would soon wear off. There were much larger fish than Keila to fry.

  Though Keila still felt uneasy, she knew her only choice was to just deal with whatever came her way.

  “Wow, look at his mother,” Tania remarked, surprised. It was obvious Patricia Kelly had gone through numerous plastic surgeries. The skin around her eyes, mouth, and forehead was too tight, and her eyes and eyebrows made her look as if she were perpetually surprised.

  There was a story about how Jake’s late father had left them numerous times, always coming back, until five years before he died. He left permanently that time, filing for divorce and then quickly marrying a much younger woman. Apparently, this is when Patty, as the first Mrs. Kelly was known to friends, began going through her surgeries.

  How sad, Keila thought, remembering how her own father’s eyes shone every evening when he came home to his wife and family.

  The story also made clear that Jake was very close to his mother, and very protective of her feelings. Interestingly, Edward Kelly changed his will months before he died and left little to his new wife, who in turn married her chauffeur and moved to London just a few weeks after the funeral.

  It was just like one of the novelas her mother so enjoyed.

  “You know, I remember how disliked his father was,” Tania said thoughtfully, tapping a picture of Edward Kelly. “He went into poorer neighborhoods that held potential because of their proximity to the loop and bought up property at low prices, promising to build mixed-income housing, but then building luxury condos instead.”

  Keila listened to Tania, read the stories, and looked at the pictures before her, engrossed in the story of a life so different from her own, wondering why her memory of the night they danced was colored in such a rosy glow. She wondered how Jake Kelly had reacted to tonight’s evening news. Would he remember her now?

  Chapter Four

  “WKIX, WHCH and the Tribune all held informal polls during the weekend, and your numbers inched up across the board!” A pumped up and energized Cate threw her purse onto a chair the moment she and Keila stepped into Jake’s office. “People love that Keila is so different from the women you’re usually associated with and that you tolerated her putting you in your place like that . . . ” Cate’s voice trailed off the moment she caught Keila glaring at her. She quickly piped down. “I’m just saying . . . ”

  The social media had grabbed onto the story and the pictures had been printed in the society pages of Sunday’s Tribune under the caption: “Jake Kelly linked to smart, talented, and feisty Latina.” And though she had to admit she’d been initially flattered, her stomach knotted up when reality set in. People really thought she and Jake were romantically linked? She didn’t want that kind of attention.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you,” Jake’s voice cut through her thoughts. She met his troublesome eyes—troublesome because one look from him made her tingle—and offered him a rehearsed, conciliatory smile. “I’ve never been good with faces,” he explained before turning away. Apparently, the weather today called for no smiles, just business. Keila sucked in her upper lip. Well, at least he did the gentlemanly thing and apologized. The politician in him probably recognized no woman wanted to be forgotten.

  “Neither of you recognized each other? For real?” Tyrone held the paper up for them to see.

  Keila wished she could lie, but she was an awful liar. Reluctantly, she admitted, “I remembered him. But it was obvious he didn’t recognize me so I didn’t say anything. It was just a dance lesson, after all.”

  “I can’t believe you didn’t recognize her, I mean, your eyes seem to be boring into her in this picture,” Tyrone remarked, his dubious look turning impish.

  Tyrone had apologized effusively for the way he’d treated her on Friday as soon as he’d seen her in the parking lot that morning, and she’d thought him mature. Now, however, she wasn’t so sure.

  “That’s the way you’re supposed to dance salsa, like you’re into each other. He was just following instructions,” Keila explained, eager to get any awkwardness between her and Jake out of the way.

  “You know, I just had a feeling you would be good for the campaign, which is weird because your actual role in the grand scheme of things is really quite small, but I’m telling you I just knew,” Cate rambled on, again too excited to shut up.

  Keila’s phone buzzed in her pocketbook then, and though she would normally have ignored it, she wanted something to focus on besides Cate’s zeal and Jake’s indifference.

  She quickly looked down to see she had a message from Mark. Good to know you’d moved on even before I’d even let you go, the dramatic message read. Keila felt her heart sink. Closing her eyes, she flipped the phone shut. Crap!

  “What’s the matter?” Cate asked.

  “Mark,” Keila sighed.

  “Maaark,” Cate repeated, her eyes wide, she’d obviously forgotten all about him.

  “Who’s Mark?” Tyrone asked.

  “Mark is . . . Keila’s quasi-ex-boyfriend,”

  When Keila looked up again, Jake’s eyes were on her, a flash of heat there for such a fleeting moment, she thought she must’ve imagined it. The tingle she’d felt before turned hot. She hated herself for not being able to control the strange sensations he caused.

  “All right, guys, that’s enough, we ne
ed to get to work,” Jake interrupted. “Cate, please release a statement that Miss Diaz and I only have a working relationship. This will all die down soon enough.”

  Cate frowned and shrugged, clearly not wanting to put a lid on the positive press. “Well, at least it brought attention to the music program you’d establish if you’re elected.”

  “Right, so if you’ll excuse us, Miss Diaz and I need to get down to business,” he continued. Tyrone wiggled his eyebrows at Jake’s words and offered them an incorrigible grin.

  • • •

  Tyrone left and Jake looked away from Keila’s worried eyes. What the hell was a quasi ex-boyfriend? And, more importantly, why did he want to know?

  Knocking the thought away, he motioned Keila over to the glass-top conference table where he was about to sit. She promptly picked her briefcase up and walked toward the opposite side of the table, her linen skirt revealing hips that swayed gently with every step. She was so different from the women he was usually attracted to.

  Jake forced himself to look away. It was Monday and he had tons of work to do. The only reason he’d agreed to meet with Keila so early the first day of the week was because he knew she’d be able to catch a ride with Cate that way. For some bizarre reason, the idea of her lugging around that violin case and overflowing briefcase of hers all over Chicago’s Transit System bothered him. “All right Miss Diaz, where do you think we should start?”

  “Please, call me Keila,” she said, hesitating for just a beat before opening her briefcase. Taking out a few pages, she tried to pass them to him, but she had to stretch clear across the table to get them to him and still he would’ve had to stretch, too, to reach them. Unwilling to look like an idiot, he didn’t budge. Shooting her an impatient glance he said, “Miss Diaz, why don’t you sit a little bit closer? I don’t bite.” The look she gave him before stifling a sigh told him she didn’t quite believe him. But she sat closer, and quickly delved into an introduction of her ideas, her manner now formal and detached.