Body Check

by Deirdre Martin

  “I try to finish by Thanksgiving,” Janna confessed. “I’m totally anal retentive.”

  Abby’s eyes lit up as she leaned in even closer to dish. “What did you get Ty?”

  Janna stiffened. “I don’t understand.”

  “Oh, God.” Mortification transformed Abby’s normally placid face. “I wasn’t supposed to know, was I?” She touched Janna’s shoulder. “Kevin told me, but I swear I haven’t said a word to anyone, nor will I.”

  “It’s okay,” Janna assured her, even though it wasn’t. “It’s over.”

  “Oh.” Now Abby looked genuinely upset. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” Janna said curtly. “It was just sex. No big deal.”

  “Janna,” Abby replied as she looked her straight in the eye, “it’s never ‘just sex.’ ”

  Shouts of “Mommy, look!” diverted Abby’s attention, providing Janna with the perfect opportunity to excuse herself, which she did. So the Gills knew about her and Ty. She wasn’t sure why, but it embarrassed her, especially since she had no idea in what context Ty had presented the relationship. Judging from Abby’s reaction, she assumed Ty hadn’t gone to Kevin and declared, “I’m doing the publicist.” But what had he said? She hated that she didn’t know. That she would never know.

  When Corporate determined the players had had enough time on the ice with their offspring, everyone was herded into Met Gar’s in-house restaurant, The Grill, to chat and mingle before a late lunch was served. Janna was dismayed to see that a dais had been set up at the front of the cozy, publike room for the Kidco execs. The message was clear: We’re royalty and we’re in charge. They had already been “receiving” players and their families down by the ice, and had, Janna noticed, made a special effort to talk to Lex, which set her teeth on edge. Predictably, Ty had ignored them and seemed in fact to go out of his way not to pay them any homage at all, heading straight for the ice as soon as he arrived and lingering on it for as long as possible until it was time to go to the restaurant. Unfortunately for Janna, Lou had noticed too; before he had a chance to bug her about it, she promised him she’d talk to Ty, which she was now on her way to do, if only to get it over with.

  She made her way to where he stood at the long, polished maple bar with Kevin, reaching up to tap him on the shoulder.

  “Excuse me, but I need to speak with you a moment.”

  Ty turned, surprised. Janna caught him giving her a quick once over and was glad she’d dressed for the occasion: black leather pants, boots, and a lilac colored cashmere V-neck that made the blue of her eyes really pop. But the happy smile that had been on his face a second before was now a frown.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Kidco Corporate would like to meet you.”

  He leaned casually against the bar. “I’m right here. Tell ’em to come on over.”

  “Don’t be deliberately difficult. You know it doesn’t work that way.”

  “And you know I don’t give a damn how it works. I thought this was a party.”

  “It is.”

  “Then why are you on my ass?” Ty inquired sweetly. “Don’t you ever take a day off?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Touché.” Ty raised his beer glass in salute to her. “Tell you what. When I’m done with this beer, I’ll go over and kiss their rings. Will that make you happy?”

  “Do what you want,” Janna replied disgustedly. “It’s your career.”

  She was about to walk away when out of the corner of her eye, more vivid than a nightmare, she saw Robert coming toward her. Oh, this was just the icing on the cake, thank you very much. In a moment of weakness, she had called him and they had agreed to get together for coffee after the party. So what on earth was he doing here now? She steeled herself, trying hard not to notice the who-the-hell-is-this-loser? look forming on Ty’s face.

  “Mon cherie.” Robert went to reach for Janna’s hand but she quickly jerked it out of range. “I tried calling you on your cell phone but you weren’t picking up.”

  “Hi, I’m Ty Gallagher,” Ty said, putting out his hand to shake Robert’s. His voice was super-friendly, and there was a wicked glint in his eye that made Janna long to kill him. “And you are—?”

  “Robert Turner.” The superiority in his voice was unmistakable, as was the faint touch of a French accent.

  “Pleased to meet you, Robert. You a friend of Janna’s?”

  “I’m her boyfriend.”

  “Ex-boyfriend,” Janna corrected sharply.

  Robert gave an arrogant sniff. “A mere technicality.”

  “Ex-boyfriend,” Ty repeated thoughtfully, his eyes deliberately seeking Janna’s. Seeing the mockery there, she imagined poking them out. “That’s interesting,” Ty continued.

  “Is it?” Robert replied coldly. “Why?”

  Ty pondered the question. “Oh, I don’t know,” he finally said with a sigh. “I guess I just pictured Janna with someone a bit more masculine, you know?”

  Janna gave him a withering look before turning her attention to Robert. “What are you doing here?” she asked him calmly. “I thought we agreed we’d meet at five.”

  She watched with embarrassment as Robert made a great show of turning his back to Ty before speaking. “As I said, ma petite belle, I tried to reach you on the cell phone but you weren’t picking up. I can’t make it. The editor at Anarchy Now!! wants a small piece from me by tomorrow and I’m afraid I’m going to have to work on it.” He bowed deeply. “Desolé. I am sorry.”

  “No offense, but what’s with the French phrases, pal?”

  Janna clenched her fists. Ty wasn’t going to be happy until he’d completely and utterly humiliated her, was he? Seeing that Robert had no intention of turning around to acknowledge him, Ty shifted his position so that he now stood beside her, staring down at Robert as if he were some sort of freak, his question hanging in the air.

  Robert put a hand to his chest. “I’m French in my heart.” His eyes took in Ty contemptuously. “I doubt someone like you would understand.”

  Ty nodded sadly. “Oui, c’est pas vrai. We Neanderthal athletes rarely do.” He held out a fist for Robert. “If you look hard enough, you can see where my knuckles scrape the floor.” His eyes darted towards the bar. “Right, Kev?”

  Kevin turned away, obviously suppressing laughter. Ty ducked his head and stared down hard into his beer, clearly doing the same. Furious now, Janna grabbed Robert by his ragged coat sleeve and dragged him out of the party.

  “My dear,” he said sympathetically when they were out in the hall, “I didn’t realize the goons you had to deal with on a daily basis. You poor thing.”

  “Don’t ever bother me while I’m working,” Janna hissed, poking him in the chest. “Ever. Ever. Ever.”

  Robert shrunk from her. “But—”

  “Ever!” Janna barked one final time before storming back into the restaurant. Stay calm, she told herself. She didn’t dare glance over at the bar, even though she damn well knew Ty’s eyes were glued to her; she could just feel it. She did a quick survey of her surroundings. Most people were at tables, talking. Others stood, drinks in hand, chatting and laughing. Janna groaned inwardly. That was another “thing” she was supposed to be keeping an eye on—making sure none of the players had too much to drink. Well, too late. She could already tell a handful of them were well on their way to tossing a few sheets to the wind, and she didn’t care. This was a party, for God’s sake. If Kidco couldn’t excuse these guys letting their hair down at their own damn Christmas party, then they really were the minions of Satan Ty always accused them of being. Maybe getting drunk wasn’t such a bad idea.

  Of course, that meant venturing over to the bar, where Ty and Kevin were now holding court, a group of younger players splayed in a semicircle around them, their gaze rapt as the captain and his sidekick prattled on about God knows what, probably the first time one of them had their teeth knocked out with a hockey stick or something equally riveting. Stea
lthy as a cat, Janna edged her way to the far end of the bar, sure she had managed to arrive undetected. But she was wrong. She had no sooner placed her order for a gin and tonic than Ty sidled up to her.

  “What do you want?” Janna asked, deliberately staring straight ahead.

  “I want to know why you looked so shocked when I spoke French.”

  “You never mentioned it.”

  “I never had to. You can’t be in the NHL for as long as I have and not speak some French.”

  “Fascinating.”

  Ty leaned over, elbows on the bar, so they were eye level. “I can’t believe you went out with that guy,” he murmured. “No wonder you were so desperate to hook up with me.”

  Janna’s head whipped around. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me. My sainted old granny has more testosterone than that guy.”

  Janna’s teeth clenched. “I hate you, you know that? Hate, hate, hate.”

  “Hey, Cap, Janna, Merry Christmas!”

  Janna and Ty turned around just in time to see Michael Dante striding toward them with a sprig of mistletoe. Earlier in the evening, he’d politely inquired after Theresa, which both touched and impressed Janna. If only Theresa had given him the time of day rather than the Russian Rocket . . . well, too late now.

  “C’mon, you two.” He shook the mistletoe over their heads. “Time to bury the hatchet you’ve been chucking back and forth at each other since September. We’re all part of the Blades family, right?”

  Janna’s eyes narrowed in warning as she regarded her companion. “Don’t you da—”

  Too late. In one swift motion Ty had grabbed her and their lips were fused in a kiss so deep, so hard, that Janna had to remind herself to breathe. The taste of beer mingling with mutual desire overwhelmed her, warmth climbing through her like the sun. Yes, she longed to sigh. Yeess. But just as she allowed herself to relax into his arms, longing for it to go on, he ended the kiss, gently pushing her away.

  “Thought you might need a reminder of what you’re missing,” he whispered, and turning with what she thought was a mildly triumphant smile, returned to his teammates at the end of the bar, who stood hooting and cheering like the yahoos they were.

  Except Kevin Gill. His expression seemed to be one of pity—not for her, but for Ty. Perhaps for both of them. Unable to bear his gaze, Janna looked away, and taking her gin and tonic from the bartender, went in search of a place where she could quietly fade away without too much fuss.

  Christmas Eve. Janna was in her old childhood bedroom. Downstairs, merriment and good cheer were prevailing quite loudly, nearly drowning out the strains of A Bing Crosby Christmas which her father insisted on playing at their open house for as long as she could remember. She had put in her face time, greeting her parents’ friends and making small talk with her father’s most important clients. It dawned on her, as she watched her infinitely charming, cocktail-driven mother circulate among the guests, making sure everyone was happy and well watered, that this is where she herself had acquired her ability to work a room. It was genetic.

  After she was sure she had been seen by all, she made a small plate of hors d’oeuvres, poured herself a well-deserved glass of champagne, and crept upstairs to her old boudoir, fully intending to reappear after she’d had a small taste of peace and quiet.

  The room hadn’t changed since she’d last occupied it as a teenager: same canopy bed with matching dresser and armoire, same plush white carpet. The back of her door was still covered with a collage of Playbills from Broadway shows she had attended, and the plump, pink silk divan she used to carelessly toss her clothing over still sat in the corner by the built-in bookcases. This was the room in which she used to dream. How fitting, then, that sitting here now on her marshmallow soft bed, her thoughts strayed to Ty.

  She was angry with him for oh-so-many reasons: his stance—non-stance—on Lubov; his refusal to give two minutes of time to the men who signed his checks; his kissing her at the party. She shouldn’t have let him do it. Instead, she should have made a great show of pushing him away. Everyone around them thought his grabbing her was a joke, but they both knew better. He said he wanted to show her what she was missing. Did that mean he was missing it, too? Or was he just trying to get under her skin?

  She used to scoff at friends who claimed to miss their lovers to the point of actually aching. Now she knew they weren’t exaggerating. She ached for him, ached so badly that she fantasized about putting anger aside and confessing to him she didn’t care where he stood on the Lubov case, she simply couldn’t go one more day without feeling his body next to hers. After the Christmas party, she had picked up the phone at least half a dozen times, but each time she chickened out. The prospect of rejection was too devastating to contemplate, the depth of her own need a source of shame and weakness to her.

  Miserable, she drank deeply from her flute of champagne. She wished Theresa were here. Janna had invited her, but apparently, not being with the family on Christmas Eve was tantamount to treason among the Falconetti clan, and she’d had to decline. Theresa is doing pretty well considering, Janna thought. She suffered from sporadic panic attacks and nightmares now, but her therapy really seemed to be helping, and she was as determined as ever to take the Lubov case to the bitter end if need be. Were she in that position, Janna didn’t know if she’d be keeping it together as well. She decided to call the Falconetti house to wish them a Merry Christmas, but just as she picked up the phone on her nightstand, there was a small knock on the door, and Wills popped his head in.

  “Hiding?”

  “For a bit.” Janna replaced the phone and patted the space beside her on the bed. Wills entered, quietly closing the door behind him. He was flushed and bright-eyed, making him look younger than his twelve years.

  “Have you been sneaking sips of dad’s ‘Hop, Skip, and Go Naked’ punch?” Janna questioned suspiciously.

  “Mom let me have a glass,” he replied defensively, flopping down beside her. “Whazzup?” he asked as if she were one of his school friends.

  “Things are fine. How about you?”

  “Okay. I’m kinda—”

  He began coughing, a deep, rattling cough that he’d been battling all day. Janna gently patted him on the back until he returned to himself.

  “Should I get you some water?” she asked.

  Wills shook his head no.

  “That cough sounds awful,” Janna noted with concern.

  “It’s just a cough,” Wills pointed out testily. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “If you say so. But you sound like a dying goose.”

  Wills made a face and plucked a pig in the blanket from her paper plate. “How are the Blades?”

  “Fine.”

  “How’s Ty Gallagher?”

  A big fat jerk. Janna reached for a cracker slathered with brie and took a bite. “He’s okay.”

  “Skyler says he’s gay.”

  Cracker crumbs flew indelicately from Janna’s mouth as she choked. “What?” she barely managed to croak as she wiped them away.

  “Sky says he’s gay. She said they went on a date, and he would barely even kiss her when most guys fall at her feet and are all over her. She said it’s obvious he’s gay.”

  “I see.” Janna bit her lip, barely able to contain her laughter. Oh, boy, baby sister, are you ever wrong on that score. It made her happy to realize Ty had been telling the truth when he claimed he hadn’t slept with Skyler—though why it should matter to her now, she didn’t know. “What do you think?” she asked Wills.

  Wills shrugged. “I don’t think he is.”

  “How come?”

  “ ’Cause that time you took me to the rink? He kept checking out your boobs.”

  “Wills!” Janna exclaimed, mortified.

  “Well, it’s true,” Wills protested. He crammed another pig in a blanket in his mouth. “It doesn’t matter what he is, anyway. He’s just great.”

  “Yes, he is,” Janna agreed quie
tly, suddenly filled with sadness. Obviously, she was having a minor nervous breakdown. One minute she was about to bust a gut laughing at Skyler’s assumption that lack of attraction to her equaled homosexuality, the next she was about to weep. And why? Because she’d killed a casual sexual relationship with a big dumb jock that never would have gone anywhere anyway? Puh-lease. She had an extreme case of the holiday blues, that’s all. Another glass of champagne and she’d find herself sobbing to “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.”

  “Whatcha lookin’ so serious for, squirt?” Wills grabbed her in an affectionate headlock and gave her a noogie.

  “Don’t you call me squirt,” Janna warned with mock seriousness, backing out of his headlock and retaliating by mussing his hair, which she knew he hated. “What do you say you and I go back downstairs?”

  “It’s boring down there,” Wills lamented. “Plus Dad won’t take off the CD by that dead guy.”

  “So we’ll sneak into the kitchen and steal some cookies. You know Mom won’t be putting them out until the bitter end.”

  “I thought you wanted to hide.”

  Janna shrugged, moving toward the door. “Can’t hide from yourself.”

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind. Let’s go downstairs.”

  CHAPTER 12

  New Year’s Eve. Was there any night more laden with expectation?

  Slumped on his couch channel surfing, Ty wondered just how he was going to ring out the old and bring in the new. It was the first time in years a game wasn’t scheduled, and he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He was used to being out there on the ice, in front of an unusually tanked up and rambunctious crowd.

  Afterward, he’d attend a small party with the coaches, players, trainers and their wives and girlfriends. Or, if the game were away, he’d board a chartered plane bound for home, the “party” taking place as players roamed the aircraft’s aisles drinking champagne from clear plastic cups and toasting each other. But instead he was here, all alone. On the biggest night to party in the greatest party city in the world, his plans consisted of—what? Lumbering into the kitchen for another Perrier? Christ.