It was the schedule for the mall opening on Saturday.
“And?” Jennifer said.
“There are a couple of things I’d like to change, if I can.”
“Such as?”
“I’d like to drive myself there rather than go in the limousine. I feel like King Farouk pulling up in one of those hearses. I know where the place is, I’ll be there on time.”
“That’s not the issue,” Jennifer replied. “You are escorted for insurance reasons, as I’m sure you know. On company time, we like to take charge of your safety. Did they allow you to drive yourself when you were with the Broncos?”
He looked uncomfortable. “No, but…”
“You’ll find that we here at the Freedom are just as cautious and solicitous of your safety as your previous employers,” Jennifer said firmly.
He held up a hand. “All right, all right, I give up. I’ll ride in the limo. Do you supply bulletproof vests, too?”
“Are you expecting an assassination attempt?” Jennifer countered.
They eyed each other, evenly matched, stalemated. The silence in the room lengthened.
Lee sighed. “Moving right along,” he said, “do I absolutely have to spout the party line about what a great place Philadelphia is, and how happy I am to be here, and how wonderful the people are? They’ve heard it all before, and that kind of speech can be phoned in.”
Jennifer regarded him levelly. “Let me put it this way. It wouldn’t be wise to say that you hate Philadelphia and find the people obnoxious.”
His eyes widened innocently. “Really? Too bad. That’s just what I had in mind.”
Jennifer felt the tug of war begin again.
“I think we can trust your judgment on it,” she said neutrally, wanting to end the interview as soon as possible. She was growing increasingly wary— exchanging banter with him was dangerous.
“Thank you so much,” he said, with exaggerated courtesy. “It’s heartening to know you have such confidence in me.”
“Is that all?” Jennifer said impatiently.
He stood. “That’s all. I’ll see you at nine-thirty on Saturday.”
Jennifer nodded, watching his retreating form as he left.
Dolores materialized in the doorway seconds after he passed through it. “What was that all about?” she hissed in the tone of a conspirator.
“Dolores, don’t you have work to do?” Jennifer asked pointedly.
“Aw, come on. Don’t be a spoilsport. What did he want?”
“He just had some questions about Saturday,” Jennifer said wearily. “Nothing earthshaking, I assure you.”
Dolores evaluated that. “Hmm. If you ask me, he wanted to see you again.”
“I’m not asking you,” Jennifer said. “And besides, he’ll see me on Saturday.”
“Along with several hundred other people,” Dolores said. “I think he wanted a cozy little tete-a-tete in your office.”
“It was hardly that. We seem to get on each other’s nerves. And if your theory is correct, why did he wait so long?”
“Ah-ha!” Dolores pounced. “Expecting him, were you? Disappointed that he didn’t show until now?”
Mercifully, at this point the phone rang. “Will you get that?” Jennifer said in icy tones and picked up a folder, pretending to examine it.
Dolores went back to her desk, leaving Jennifer to wonder if there was any truth in what she had said.
* * * *
On Saturday, the weather was stifling, so Jennifer wore a sleeveless, clinging sheath in air force blue that matched her eyes and piled her hair atop her head for coolness. She would be doing a lot of walking, so she selected shoes with a medium heel, and added a large canvas shoulder bag to hold her clipboard and other materials.
The day was overcast and humid, which made the heat seem worse. The driver arrived for her at 9:15, and she stared moodily out the window during the drive to Youngson’s condominium complex in Yardley.
The townhouses all looked the same, set decoratively amidst the exquisite plantings and Immaculately landscaped lawns. There was a security station at the main gate, and Jennifer identified herself to the guard. He called ahead to Lee, who okayed their entry. Lee was waiting for them outside when they arrived.
He was wearing a navy blazer with charcoal gray slacks and a club tie. Cochise as Young Republican, Jennifer thought to herself, admitting that he had chosen well: he looked neat, conservative, and very fashionable. Damn the man. Why did she always find him so appealing?
He got into the rear seat beside her, his expression unreadable. “I hope I look okay,” he said.
Jennifer turned away. He had eyes; he had mirrors. He knew how he looked. If he was fishing for a compliment, he was going to be disappointed.
“That’s not for me to say,” she replied stiffly.
She saw him glance at her curiously, but he kept silent.
The drive to the mall was short, for which Jennifer was grateful. The approaches to it were already jammed with traffic.
She looked at Lee, who was craning his neck unhappily. “What are all these people doing here?” he muttered. “Why aren’t they home painting their garages, or something?”
Jennifer couldn’t help smiling. “For the guest of honor, you are wearing a remarkably unfestive expression.”
He hesitated a moment, and then said, “I don’t deserve such adulation. These little kids, they should be looking up to, I don’t know, Jonas Salk or Neil Armstrong or Sandra Day O’Connor. It makes me uncomfortable.”
Jennifer didn’t know what to say. He sounded sincere. She thought about it a moment, and then ventured, “But your manager books you for personal appearances, and you take money for doing them, don’t you?”
He turned on the seat to face her. “In the first place, I don’t have a manager, because I don’t want one. In the second place, I only do the appearances required by my contract, like this one, and the charity stuff. That’s all.”
Jennifer didn’t believe him. “Really?” The skepticism came through in her tone.
His lips twisted. “Really.”
“What about the product endorsements, the commercials?” Jennifer persisted, knowing that she was being rude, but unable to stop herself.
He shrugged slightly. “I endorse the products I actually use, I see no harm in that But if I think the stuff is junk, I won’t go for it, no matter how much they’re offering.”
Jennifer wondered why he was answering her questions so readily, rather than telling her to mind her own business. He seemed to want to explain, to correct her impression of him.
“You wouldn’t believe some of the approaches I’ve had,” he added musingly. “Most of the pitches I’ve turned down play on my background, which I won’t allow. One cooking oil outfit, which shall be nameless, wanted me to deck myself out in buckskins and a headdress and talk about how the ‘braves’ in my ‘tribe’ used to harvest the same com used for their oil.” He shook his head. “Blackfeet live in the Northwest and Canada. They harvested about as much com as your average Eskimo. But I’ll tell you something, even if my people had grown enough com to float the continent in the stuff, I still wouldn’t have done it. I’d rather hawk dog food.”
Jennifer bit her lip. He had his own standards and lived up to them. That was more than could be said for most people.
The driver negotiated his way among cars until he reached one of the mall police. Then he rolled down his window and identified his passenger. The cop peered in the tinted rear window at Lee, who gave him a small half wave. The cop nodded and cleared a path for them up to the mall manager’s office, where Jennifer and Lee emerged from the limousine to be shepherded inside.
They were behind the mall, out of view of the crowd, but a few stragglers still caught sight of Lee. They shouted and waved. He raised his hand in acknowledgment and kept moving. Just like royalty, Jennifer thought dryly and glanced sidelong at him. He seemed withdrawn, preoccupied Well, he was the one who had
to make the speech.
Inside, a contingent was waiting for them. It was composed of the mall manager, the general managers of the anchor department stores, the president of the development corporation that had built the mall, the local councilman, and the mayor. There was even a county beauty contest winner, complete with silken sash and rhinestone crown, who cast covert glances at Lee between pauses to adjust her banner or pat her hair into place. Lee favored them all with a practiced smile, which Jennifer could tell was trotted out for these occasions. She had seen the real ones, she realized: the slight, subtle curve to his mouth and the dazzling, impish grin. This smile went with the handshakes and the small talk and was part of his public persona. It was genuine enough, but revealed nothing of himself. She had seen more of the real Lee Youngson during their two encounters in her office than these people ever would.
The mall manager, a Mr. Vance, led them to a central lobby where the crowd was gathered behind ropes cordoning off the corridors. A dais, covered in red velvet, had been placed in the center. The group paused before reaching it and received some preliminary instructions from Mr. Vance and then proceeded outside to the reviewing stand.
The mass of people erupted when they saw Lee. He grinned and waved, taking his seat, waiting for his introduction.
Jennifer remained at the edge of the crowd, observing the scene.
Mr. Vance made the usual appropriate remarks, ending with a spiel about how lucky they were to have with them today that giant of the sports world, a great humanitarian and a true gentleman, etc., etc., Lee Youngson!
Lee stepped up to the microphone during a thunderous ovation. He lifted his arms to ask for quiet and then launched into his talk.
Jennifer had to admire his technique. He played to the crowd like a headliner in the Copa Room of the Sands in Las Vegas. They hung on his every word, laughing at his team anecdotes, listening in openmouthed silence to each sentence as if he were delivering the Sermon on the Mount. She had never seen the exercise of such power. He held them in the palm of his hand…They were his. It was a wonder to behold.
When he finished and sat again to more enthusiastic applause, the others took their turn and spoke briefly. The mayor was up last, thanking everyone as mayors generally do, and then Lee and he cut the ribbon to open the mall officially.
Jennifer watched as they posed for newspaper photographers and gave interviews to television journalists from the local stations. Jennifer listened closely to what was said and distributed releases to the reporters as they milled about the area. Lee was signing autographs and stopped to have his picture taken with his arm around the pageant winner, who smiled up at him seductively. Jennifer viewed the scene for a few moments, then looked away.
It was one in the afternoon by the time it was over, and Jennifer’s feet ached from standing all that time. Lee had handled everything graciously. Why not, Jennifer thought sourly, he’d been through so many of these things he could probably do this number in his sleep. Then she felt slightly guilty at her cynicism. She could at least give him credit for a job well done.
The driver arrived to collect them shortly thereafter, and Lee slipped out a side exit with Jennifer. As they approached the waiting car he said to her, casually, “How about some lunch?”
“No, thank you,” Jennifer said primly.
He glanced at her. “Why not? Aren’t you hungry?”
In point of fact, she was starving. I’d like to get home, I have a number of things to do today,” she said.
“Can’t they wait a little while? We’ll go someplace where I won’t be bothered.”
“Where might that be?” Jennifer asked sarcastically. “Antarctica?”
He shot her a look and then said quietly, “Two hours, Ms. Gardiner. Is that too much to ask?”
Jennifer paused, intrigued. Why not? she reasoned. She was curious about his persistence. He seemed determined to get her to agree.
“All right,” she said. “Just tell the driver where you’d like to go.”
“Is that permitted?” Lee asked, smiling slightly. “I wouldn’t want to break any of your rules. He can drop me back to get my own car if you think that would be advisable.”
“I’ll take the responsibility,” Jennifer said evenly.
“Well, if you’re sure,” Lee answered. “I just want you to be sure.”
She looked at him and saw that teasing glint in his eye.
“Mr. Youngson, I believe you’re pulling my leg,” she said.
“Ms. Gardiner, I’m not, but I’d love to,” he replied.
Jennifer let that one pass. They got into the car and Lee instructed the driver to take them to an address in Newtown, which turned out to be a bustling, crowded Italian restaurant. Lee dismissed the driver and they approached the entrance, where a bald, rotund, middle-aged man could be seen through the plate glass window, making change at the register. Lee signaled to him from the sidewalk, and the man broke into a broad grin, collaring a younger man to take over for him and rushing outside to greet them.
“Chief! How ya doin!? Angelo wrote his mother you’d be coming out here, and then I saw it in the papers and on TV. What’s happening, where ya stayin’?”
The two men had a very physical reunion, with much hugging and backslapping, and then Lee introduced Jennifer to his friend, Sal Barbetti, the owner of the restaurant. Sal’s nephew, Angelo, was a second string quarterback for the Broncos, and Lee had met his family when they were out visiting Angelo.
“Hey, Chief, I never forget what you did for my boy, I mean it Anything you want, anytime, no charge. You’re always welcome here. That kid is a changed boy since, you should see him.”
Jennifer glanced curiously at Lee, who was frowning at Sal, trying to make him drop the subject Sal finally took the hint and did so, leaving Jennifer burning with the desire to know what they were talking about. But the riddle would not be solved that day. Sal hustled them around the comer of the building and took them in through the kitchen entrance, setting up a table for them in a quiet alcove behind the busboys’ station. Every few minutes a dark-haired teenager would dash past in a red jacket, grabbing a tray full of glasses or a stack of dishes. Jennifer winced as she waited for a crash, but it never came. They were remarkably adept.
Sal shook out a red and white checkered tablecloth and repolished the already sparkling glassware before putting it on the table. He inspected the silverware for spots it didn’t have and then pulled a paper tablet from his back pocket.
“I take your order myself, one of these idiots here might get it wrong,” he said.
Lee smiled at Jennifer. “What would you like?”
“Could I have a salad?”
The owner beamed at her. “Best salad in the house, beautiful lady, plus pasta, veal scaloppini or parmigiana, we got it all.”
“I think just the salad.”
Sal’s smile faded. “What do you mean, that’s all?” He stared at Lee. “What’s a matter with you, Chief, you got to get this girl to eat Look at her, she’s a bone.”
Lee coughed delicately, trying not to laugh. “I know, Sal, what can I tell you. Look, bring me the veal, just give the lady an antipasto, okay?”
Sal scribbled unhappily on his note pad and then seemed to have a thought which brightened him up a little. “I bring you dessert, lady,” he kissed his fingers, “cannoli, tortoni, melt in your mouth, you see.” He nodded, beaming, and took off to get their order.
“Wait until you see the salad he brings you,” Lee grinned. “You could live off it for a week.”
“What was he talking about when we first came here, something to do with his son, a favor you did for them?”
Lee made a gesture of dismissal. “Oh, don’t pay any attention to that, Sal is just one of those people, heart as big as the Atlantic, effusive, eternal gratitude for any little thing you do for him, you know the type. It was nothing.”
Jennifer was sure he was lying, but she didn’t know why. “Do you always get such special trea
tment?” she asked, changing the subject.
He chuckled. “From Sal, yeah. He takes care of me.”
“In other words, rank has its privileges.”
Lee sobered, looking up at her. “I think it has more to do with friendship, but if you want to look at it that way, yes.”
“Can’t have Lee Youngson waiting around for a table with the rest of the peons,” Jennifer went on.
Lee sighed. “Are you trying to pick a fight?” he asked, arching his brows.
“What’s wrong, Mr. Youngson, this little luncheon date not working out the way you planned? Am I not suitably impressed? You should have asked Miss Bucks County Apple Polisher to lunch, I’m sure she would have been more congenial.”
“Apple Princess,” Lee corrected, amused. “And I asked you because I wanted to talk to you.”
A waiter scuttled over and deposited a carafe of ice water on the table, pausing a moment to stare at Lee.
“Talk,” Jennifer said.
Lee waited until the boy had left, and then folded his arms on his chest and surveyed her critically.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I get the distinct impression you don’t care much for me.”
Nonplussed, Jennifer made no reply.
“The first time we met,” he continued, “you gave me that ‘you’re too stupid to understand’ routine, which I suspect was deliberate, and ever since then, despite a thin veneer of politeness on your part, I feel a definite chill in the air. You’re only here with me right now because I practically coerced you into it Now why is that, Ms. Gardiner?”
Jennifer studied him, weighing her answer.
He saw her indecision. “Go ahead. You can tell me,” he prompted.
“I suppose I resent the amount of money you’re paid to play what is essentially a children’s game,” Jennifer said. But she knew that wasn’t the whole truth. Her calculated aloofness was a defense against the overwhelming attraction she felt for him. But it was a reasonable explanation, one he could accept.
He nodded thoughtfully. “I see.”
She gestured expansively. “After all, you weren’t raking in enough bucks playing for the Broncos, you had to dicker for top dollar to come here. It’s difficult to read in the Inquirer about the millions of children starving in Asia and Africa and then turn to the sports section and see the columnists guessing at your six-figure salary.”
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