Native Affairs

by Doreen Owens Malek

  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 He seemed withdrawn, preoccupied Well, he was the one who had to make the speech.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 treatment?” 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.”

  He didn’t seem angry. “You’re working very hard for a fraction of what I’m making, and that bothers you. That’s natural.”

  Sal brought their food. He placed in front of Jennifer the biggest salad she had ever seen.

  “Are you sure I can’t get you anything else?” he asked her anxiously.

  “I’m positive. This is fine.”

  Sal waited until Lee had taken a bite of his veal, which was golden brown, sautéed in thin strips, delicately seasoned, as Jennifer could tell by the delicious aroma wafting across the table.

  Lee made a circle of his thumb and forefinger. “It’s great, Sal.”

  Sal was satisfied. He gave Jennifer one more wounded glance and disappeared.

  “You’d better have some dessert, or he’ll burst into tears,” Lee warned her.

  “How could I possibly eat dessert? Look at the size of this thing. It looks more like a small shrub than a salad.”

  “Do the best you can. Take some of it out of the bowl and distribute it around your plate.”

  Jennifer was arranging pieces of ham and cheese and lettuce decoratively on Sal’s china when Lee said, “Jennifer, I think you should understand something. I didn’t leave the Broncos for money. The team drafted a rookie end from Northwestern who was breathing down my neck, and I didn’t wait around for him to wind up standing on it The Freedom needed me for first string. The move was made for reasons of survival, not greed.”

  Jennifer listened, chastened. She hadn’t known about that For the first time she realized that it must be precarious at the top—always waiting for, and fearing, the talented youngster who could come along and topple you from your perch.

  “I’ve been playing ten years, Jennifer. Every season if s harder to get back into shape, the kick coming up look younger, the tackles are tougher to take. I can’t do this forever; nobody can. The money seems like a lot, I know, but I can only earn it for a short period of time.”

  Jennifer had an answer for that “But during that time, you earn more than most people do in an entire career. You can save, invest, retire, and open a chain of restaurants or become a sportscaster. Those few years set you up for life. I’ll take your prospects over those of Joe Average American.”

  He spread his hands. “I surrender. I can’t outtalk you, counselor.”

  Her eyes flashed to his face. “How did you know I was a lawyer?”

  He smiled slightly. “Those legal terms you were rattling off when you went over my contract with me had the easy ring of familiarity. Besides, some of the mail on your desk was addressed to ‘Jennifer Gardiner, J.D.’ That’s a law degree, isn’t it?”

  Jennifer eyed him. “Very observant.”

  He made a deprecating gesture. “I try.”

  Sal arrived with a pitcher of iced tea. “Fresh made, with lemon and lime,” he announced. “How about some wine? Chianti, Valpolicella, Chablis, or Bordeaux for the lady?”

  “No thanks, Sal. Jennifer can’t get blitzed at lunch, she has a busy afternoon ahead.”

  Jennifer threw Lee a dirty look, to which he responded with a stare of outraged innocence.

  “I bring you some garlic bread,” Sal said and trudged off.

  Jennifer had to laugh. “He doesn’t give up easily, does he?”

  Lee shook his head. “Sal is convinced that he could bring about world peace in one day if he could just get all the leaders of the various countries to sit down to a spaghetti dinner and share a few glasses of wine. What couldn’t be solved under those circumstances?”

  “I’m not so sure he’s wrong.”

  Lee poured them both a tumblerful of tea. “I’m not so sure, either, counselor.”

  Jennifer sipped her drink. “You can drop the ‘counselor.’ I haven’t practiced for about three years, not since I took the first contract administrator’s position with the Freedom.”<
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  “Why did you leave private practice?”

  “Because I was offered twice what I was making as an associate at Chaus and Reynolds to come to the Freedom.”

  Lee grinned. “Good reason.”

  “I thought so.”

  “But you’re still a lawyer.”

  “I’m still a member of the bar, yes, but I don’t go into court anymore. I was hired for the contracts expertise I picked up during my tenure with the firm. They did a lot of corporate work.”

  “I see. It’s like Holy Orders, once in, never out Thou art a priest forever,’ that sort of thing.”

  He was needling her again. She decided not to rise to the bait. “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

  He raised his glass of tea to her and said, “Here’s looking at you, kid,” in a very bad Bogart imitation.

  Jennifer furrowed her brow thoughtfully. “Jimmy Cagney?” she guessed.

  Lee put the glass down, exasperated.

  She snapped her fingers. “I know! Peter Lorre.”

  “Very funny,” he said darkly, reaching for a breadstick. Jennifer noticed that three of the fingers on his right hand were purpled and swollen.

  “Good lord,” she said. “What happened to your hand?”

  He glanced down at it “Oh. I stoved my fingers in practice yesterday.”

  “You ‘stoved’ your fingers. What on earth does that mean?”

  He shifted his weight back in his chair, raising his hand in the air to demonstrate. “When you catch a football, you have to palm it, like this,” he said, showing her where the ball should fit into the hand of the pass receiver. “But if it’s coming in too high and you try to grab it, sometimes it clips your fingers and causes bruises. It travels with a great deal of force, and the impact creates the marks you see.”

  “Is it very painful?”

  “Oh, no. It looks worse than it is. I’d rather have this any time than a strawberry.”

  “A strawberry?” Jennifer asked, fascinated.

  “A skin burn, similar to what baseball players get from sliding. The worst ones come from Astroturf.

  They can really smart. I had one once that laid my whole arm open from the wrist to the elbow.”