“What did you do?” He moved both plates to the other side of the granite counter and she followed him. When he sat on one of the tall stools, Rissa pressed herself between his legs and leaned against him.
“I kind of took your advice. I got Marlea to go with me…I…” She stuttered when he raised a brow. “I went to see a therapist.”
And I don’t know what I expected him to do or say, but when he rubbed my arms and held me…when he listened…promised me that everything was going to be all right…She sipped more coffee, looked out over her clean office, and felt cherished. I told my mother that I loved him, that those three words were my life, and I ain’t never lied about where my feelings are for him. Dench is my life, whether we ever have a baby or not.
Lifting the first of the folders she’d brought from the front, Rissa started to read over the details of a new commercial contract, and was interrupted by the ring of her phone. She was slightly disappointed that it wasn’t her private line.
Joyce Ashton sounded wide awake. “You’ve been on my mind and I thought I would give you a call.”
“That’s nice, but…why?” Anxiety skittered across her skin, leaving goose bumps in its wake. “Joyce, is something wrong with me?”
“Calm down, you’re fine, as far as I know. I just wanted to chat a little.”
Chat? I’ve never chatted with Joyce before. “What did you want to chat about? Is it something legal?”
“No, and it’s nothing big.” The doctor’s smile edged her voice. “I had a chance to speak with Dench.”
Rissa’s mouth opened and closed on her shock. “I can’t believe he went behind my back and called you.”
“How do you know I didn’t call him? Besides Rissa, he was worried and he wanted to understand what was going on with you.”
“Joyce, you’re my doctor, not our doctor. He should have at least said something to me first.” Rissa turned her desk chair to look out of her window. In the distance, she could see the haze of early summer heat rising over the Buckhead skyline and was thankful for air conditioning. “Ethically, if I didn’t come to you, no one should have.”
“You’re one of those people who only thinks about ethics when she gets caught in them, aren’t you?” Joyce’s light chuckle crossed the line between them, smoothing some of Rissa’s irritation. “How ethical is it for you to keep details from Dench and then make him an accomplice to a loss he had no control over?”
Rissa groaned and propped her chin in her hand. “It never crossed my mind.”
“He told me that you saw a counselor.”
“Yes, I did, and I think it helped.”
“When are you going back?”
Rissa lifted the lid on her coffee cup and sighed. Empty. Just my luck. “What else did he tell you? Or maybe a better question is, what else did you tell him about me?”
“He says you’re going to try again.”
“We are.”
Rissa could almost hear Joyce toying with her glasses, maybe tapping one of the temple pieces against her lips as she framed her words. “I’m sure the sex is enjoyable, but is it fair?”
“Oh, you wait until I talk to Dench…”
“And what will you say to him? ‘If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again?’ Rissa, even if you are successful in getting pregnant again, and remember it took four years this time, is it fair to tell him that you’ll just keep on trying until you get it right?”
“That’s mean.”
“No, Rissa, that’s real. If you don’t find a way to accept and respond to your cervical insufficiency, you will more than likely repeat your loss. Could either of you stand that? Could your marriage survive it?”
Chris Gordon said I was entitled to my grief. She never said it would haunt me like this. “What do you recommend?”
“There are alternatives…”
“I know, I know. Anything else?”
“Well,” Joyce drawled. “You could call Alexis Stanton, the specialist I told you about. And keep having sex. If you get pregnant, talk to Alexis about cervical cerclage. If you truly want to carry your own child, the procedure might give you a chance. Other than that, just enjoy sex with your husband, stay open to the alternatives, and don’t discount the option of a surrogate.”
There’s that word was again—surrogate. “Have you been talking to Marlea?”
“No, not lately, why?”
“No reason. Maybe I should talk to her.”
Ending the call with Joyce, Rissa considered calling Marlea—and it seemed like a good idea until she looked at the time. Not even ten in the morning. She realized that Marlea would be in class at the Runyon School right about now.
And there’s no way to call her and work through this. Pacing did next to nothing for her nerves and getting Dench’s sexy text message didn’t help, either. Rissa looked at the door and debated going to Yvette’s office. She said I could talk to her…but this is too much, and way too personal…Connie and Jeannette talk too much, and they talk to each other…
Her phone rang and she paced close enough to pick up the receiver.
“Hey, Rissa. I’ve got pictures.”
Oh, goody. Just what I need.
“I emailed them to you this morning. You’ll see them as soon as you open your email,” Jimmy Clarence enthused. “I sent a set to Dench, too.”
“That was really nice, Jimmy. Thanks.”
“My mama called this morning, and I thought I’d better give you a heads up—before she tracks you down. She bought a video camera and she’s trying to make a film about JJ’s first days. That’s what she calls him, JJ, for James Junior. He ain’t been here but a minute and she’s already got a nickname for him.” The boxer’s voice thickened and slowed. “You know, I owe you a lot. If you and Dench hadn’t been there to point me in the right direction…man…I would be missing out on all of this. So, you know…thanks.”
“You’re welcome, and I’m going to look at those pictures.”
Hanging up the phone, she congratulated herself. I just had a whole five minute conversation about a baby and I didn’t have a meltdown. That’s progress.
Determined to make more progress, she opened the files on her desk and tried to prioritize. Marcus Sawyer’s file seemed to rise to the top and she flipped through it, shaking her head as she read. Twenty-one years old, fast feet, balance to die for, and the kind of hands that could become NFL legend, the receiver had a drinking problem that could condemn him to a career of regret—if he doesn’t kill himself or someone else in the process.
Reading deeper into the file, Rissa found herself shaking her head. I knew from the beginning that this boy had problems. Her first meeting with him was at a high school football game, at the invitation of his mother. Sawyer’s mother was not so different from her own and when Rissa decided to go to the game, she hauled Dench along for backup.
Sawyer was a dream on the field and hell at home. He was a smart, arrogant kid, being raised without a father, and maybe that was part of the problem, because it took the promise of a man with passion for the game they both loved to grab his attention and get him through school. Dench promised him a chance and Rissa used AJ’s contacts to get Sawyer into Tech. She’d hoped the rest would be up to him and his talent. Now there was a place on the Falcons for him—if he could ever develop the discipline to hold on to it.
Dropping her head into her palms, Rissa read more. Every problem on Marcus’s list seemed based in alcohol. The alcohol issue never showed up in the time he played for Tech. His grades were decent, better than decent, actually. Addiction, she thought, and addiction is not about discipline. She saw the sticky yellow note Yvette had attached to the file.
José Christopher and Ben Thomas had already called and were waiting to hear something from her. Christopher and Thomas were reporters. Worse, they were damned good reporters and, like sharks, they could already smell blood in the water surrounding Sawyer.
This can’t be ignored or left alone in the hop
e that people will forget about it—memory is just too convenient. Crushing the note into a ball, she turned her computer on and did a search of the Fulton County Jail records. When she found Sawyer’s name the first time, a blunt burst of acid shot through Rissa’s stomach, and she knew she would have to dig deeper. Her fast fingers moved the mouse and typed in more data, hoping she wouldn’t find him. Hope all you want, there he is. She tapped the screen with her finger and wished she wasn’t seeing what she was seeing.
This was the part of her job that she hated, having to confront a client and issue an ultimatum. Marcus Sawyer was going to have to decide to embrace his life and the career he craved, or take a dive into a bottle and figure out how to live with what he found at the bottom. It wasn’t about getting a break. It was about making a choice.
But it’s never really that simple, is it? Massaging her temples, Rissa could hear Chris Gordon’s voice and knew the truth of her words. It wasn’t simple, but Rissa knew that she would connect the player with the therapist, and pray for the best.
It took four calls to track him down and the steel in her backbone to back him down, but Rissa finally got Sawyer to talk to her, and the first thing he did was take the alcoholic’s refuge in lies. He lied about the charges, making them all figments of the arresting officer’s imagination, reducing them to minor joke status—until she told him that she was looking at them on her computer. He refused to come to the office or to meet her anywhere else. When she threatened to burn his contract, he confessed to being previously arrested under a false name and she was tempted to really burn the contract.
Instead, she stood up from the desk and hardened her voice. Pacing the length of her office, she broke the realities down for him, speaking of rappers in the wrong company caught with guns and drugs in drugstore parking lots, and big-balling football and basketball players dealing with false names and faked realities and learning that they were not above the law. “And you can keep on until it’s your turn to be caught, or you can fix this now. Marcus, I promise you that having a former agent and a lost NFL contract won’t do you a bit of good while you’re sitting in prison braiding somebody’s hair.”
When he swore, she verbally spanked him and told him what she expected and what he was going to have to do to keep her services and the contract she’d secured for him. He growled at her and she snarled back, reminding him of the morals clause in his contract and what it would cost him to violate it. The Falcons had a one-year exclusive and a first choice option that they were not obligated to pick up. “And if they don’t at least make an offer at the end of this year, you’re going to be marked for extinction.
“The rest of the world is not as stupid as you want to think they are, and they’re not as forgiving as you want to hope they are. Are you willing to blow this shot at a dream for a few drinks, a little crack, and a police record? You get picked up like this again, Marcus, get prosecuted, you’ll be looking at federal time and you’ll need a better lawyer than me to pull your butt out of the fire.” She paused and hoped she had him thinking.
When he finally spoke, his voice was hollow and dull, stirring her suspicions. She closed her eyes and hoped against hope that she was wrong—though she knew in her heart that she wasn’t. Walking back to her computer, she listened to his ramblings as she did a more complete search and found what she knew she would: four small alcohol and drug stops—one with a minor female in the vehicle. Two of the stops, including the one with the girl, had resulted in ticketed warnings.
Eyes on the screen, miscreant mumbling in her ear about how the whole world was out to get him, Rissa shook her head and hoped it wasn’t too late. He admitted to using the name Marc Sayler, and sticking to the lie even when the arresting officers seemed to recognize him. His celebrity status had kept him safe, so far, but what would happen when he got picked up after a bad game or after he made a bad play? She tapped more keys. The fines had been paid without his having to show up in court. That’s how he’d stayed off the media radar.
Her next call would be to Dench.
But in the meantime…“There’s someone I want you to talk to, Marcus. Her name is Chris Gordon. She’s a counselor and I think she’ll do you some good.” She listened to his protests and excuses, and then said, “I’m going to make this simple for both of us, Marcus. See her and I’m still your agent. See her, and I’ll tell Dench that you’re trying to do the right thing. Don’t see her, and I’ll shut my mouth tighter than a drum and you’re on your own.”
She smiled, liking the technique. He called her a “buzz saw in a skirt”, but he agreed. She gave him the contact number for Chris, then made him repeat it. Sullen and more than a little shaken, Sawyer promised to make the call.
“You make her your very next call, and have her let me know when your appointment is. Oh, and when you keep it, I want to know that, too.”
His brooding, “Yes, ma’am,” gave her hope. She made a quick note in the file before she dialed Dench.
“Hey, hot stuff, how’s it going?”
“I just love how you always see me for who I really am,” she purred into the phone.
“Sexy is as sexy does, I always say.”
“Did you wear shorts today? The ones I like?”
“Life is good when dirty girls grow up to be dirty women,” Dench said, his voice dropping to pick up the raw edge that always thrilled her.
“I’d better tell you what I called for before I forget.” She crossed her legs and cleared her throat as she eased her hips forward on her chair. “One of your new players has got some stuff going on, and without trying to violate his confidence, I can tell you that reporters are sniffing around for information. It won’t take them long to ferret it out, either. I found it on the first try, maybe because he’s a local boy.”
Suddenly serious, Dench moved his hand across the phone, muffling his words. “I’m on it,” he said. “Random testing starts in an hour. Just a thought, but maybe I should start with last names beginning with the letter ‘S’.”
“Good start.”
“Oh, and before you go,” his voice changed for her, “do you suppose that the dirty girl will be waiting when I get home?”
“Probably not,” Rissa’s leg pumped a time or two, “but I know a dirty woman who can’t wait to see you. I did tell you that the therapist said that I should have lots of sex, didn’t I?” She laughed with him.
Hanging up the phone, Rissa liked how she felt—braver and more able somehow. For the first time since losing the baby and returning to work, she felt capable and ready to handle it. Maybe therapy isn’t such a bad idea. I certainly thought enough of my session to recommend it.
Then she remembered. I told Dench that the therapist said I should have lots of sex, but it wasn’t Chris, it was Joyce who said it. And I forgot to tell him that I talked to her, that I said I would consider the options. Moving her fingers over the files still remaining on her desk, she debated working, then looked at her watch and figured that now was as good a time as any to try reaching Marlea.
Marlea must have been standing over the phone. She picked up on the first ring and groaned when she heard Rissa’s voice. “Where are you going to try to make me go now? Wherever it is, I can’t go. I have too much to do at school, the 10K is coming up and I told AJ I would pick up his shoes. Besides that, Nia and Jabari have swimming lessons this afternoon…do you have a suit in your gym bag? Maybe you should come.”
“Please, with my hair growing out, there’s no way I’m climbing in a pool.”
“Chicken?”
“Completely. Do you know what my head would look like after playtime in a pool with your two little heathens?”
“Thanks, Rissa,” Marlea suddenly pouted. “Are you telling me that I look bad?”
“Girl, no.” Rissa sucked at her teeth. “I would never do that.”
“Yes, you would.”
Gritting her teeth, Rissa managed not to scream. “Actually, I just wanted to talk…for a minute.”
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br /> “I’ve got about forty minutes.” Rissa heard the chair scrape as Marlea pulled it away from her desk. Sitting, her tone relaxed. “What did you want to talk about?”
“I got a call from Joyce Ashton this morning.” Rissa ran her fingernail over the edges of the folders on her desk. “Dench called her and she was following up.”
“Why did Dench call your doctor? Is something going on with you?”
Rissa ignored the question and her nail traced the edge of the folders again. “She wanted me to consider alternatives. I told her I would and I will, no matter how unnatural or unreasonable they seem.” She heard Marlea’s breath catch in her throat.
“Are you just using me as a sounding board, or are you serious?”
“I’m serious. Right now, I’m considering everything, even in vitro and maybe a surrogate.”
“Why do you think it would be unnatural to have an in vitro procedure with me as your surrogate?”
“I never mentioned your name.” Squeezing her eyes shut, Rissa made a gagging sound, then cleared her throat. “I didn’t say that you would be the surrogate, if that was the way to go.”
“Whatever. It would be me, and that’s that.” Marlea suddenly sounded excited. “So you and Dench decided? You’re going to do it?”
“No, I’m still a long way from making that kind of a decision. I have no idea what Dench would say.”
“Yes, you do. You already know he’ll say you can adopt, or you can take me up on my offer.”
“I’m still trying to think this through, and I already told you that the old-fashioned method is my preference.” Rissa cleared her throat again. “Doesn’t the whole thing strike you as trifling with nature? Playing God? Mixing up some kind of Frankenstein baby in a petri dish?”
“Don’t be silly, the Frankenstein monster was full grown—made out of man parts. And who would know how your baby was conceived if you didn’t tell them? Oh, what was I thinking, you’d probably tell them.”
Dream Keeper (Indigo) Page 16