Chapter Five

Gray thought he must be getting old. He must have lost a step. Because Mark was dancing around him with phenomenal speed. Gray felt almost dizzy by how easily Mark was whirling, avoiding his feeble attacks. Gray was actually relieved when the bout was over, because he was exhausted and out-of-sorts by having been beaten so badly.

            Mark said, “You’re still favoring that foot.”

            “Huh?” Gray, trying to catch his breath, looked down at it. “A bit, yeah.”

            “I was taking shameless advantage of it,” said Mark. “Sorry. Watching the World Series?”

            “Yes.”

            “Think the Marlins are going to pull it off?”    

“I pray every night. You going to finish up here?” asked Gray. Mark’s workout routine was far more stringent than Gray’s. Maybe the reason why he never seemed to lose a step while Gray felt like he was going backward.

            “Yeah, I’m going to swim some laps.”

            “Okay. Stop by the office when you’re done.”

            Mark looked surprised. They didn’t usually hang out in Gray’s office after they boxed. “Sure.”

            Gray stopped off at his suite first, took a quick shower before pulling his businessman suit back on. He was still tying his tie when he took the private elevator to the executive floor and greeted his secretary.

            “I miss anything?” he asked her, swiping a hand quickly through his damp hair in what sufficed for him as combing.

            She shook her head, and he breezed by her into his office, settling down. There was really nothing to running a company once you got the hang of it, and he’d gotten the hang of it years earlier. The key was to surround yourself with people you trusted, so that he didn’t have to run around making sure Danny and Lucy and the rest of his employees were doing their jobs. The Vegas Bienvenue was the most difficult to run. If it was running smoothly, the rest of the hotels seemed to take its cue.

            He was trying to come up with something to do when he heard Mark enter the antechamber where Gray’s secretary was stationed. “Come on in, Mark!” he called, so he wouldn’t get hung up with the secretary, and Mark came in, dressed smartly in his police uniform, which Gray saw him in so seldom he barely recognized him. “Don’t you look like a dapper man in uniform.”

            “I am a dapper man in uniform,” said Mark, watching Gray close the door. “This is a little like getting called to the principal’s office.”

            Gray smiled absently as he sat behind his desk. “Have a seat.”

            “Exactly like getting called to the principal’s office.”

            “I wanted to talk to you about the security job.”

            “I see. And you’re pulling out the big guns.”

            “The big guns?”

            “Yeah. Get me in the executive office. Shut the door. Sit behind your desk in your suit so I’m reminded of our respective stations in life.”

            Gray felt his eyebrows lift in surprise. “That isn’t what I’m doing.”

            “It’s exactly what you’re doing. And this is exactly why I don’t want the job. Friendships don’t survive when one of the friends turns into a boss.”

            “I wouldn’t be…” Gray sighed in frustration. “I’m a pretty easy boss.”

            “Oh, that makes it all much better. Are you really hurting that much in the security department, Gray?”

            “No,” he admitted. “Mark, listen…Monica asked me to try to convince you to take the job.”

            Mark was angry. Gray could see it in the flat look of his eyes. But outwardly he showed absolutely no sign of it. His tone when he spoke was almost expressionless. “Monica asked you?”

            “Yes.”

            “Well, that’s clearly not any sort of manipulation on her part.”

            “Mark, she is worried about you. I think she’s almost hysterical with worry. That’s the only reason why I’m doing this in the first place. I’d love to have you in the security department, but I know you don’t want to do it and I’m willing to leave it at that. But you have a wife who’s going behind your back to-”

            “I’ll handle my wife. Of course she’s hysterical. She’s pregnant. Women are frequently hysterical when they’re pregnant.”

            “She’s worried you’re going to get yourself killed.”

            “I know she is.”

            “I don’t think you understand the extent to which she’s worried. You really need to sit down with her and get her to calm down a bit.”

            Mark took a deep breath. “I’ve tried. The fact is she’s…My father was a cop. My grandfather was a cop. My brothers are cops. It’s in my blood. She’s overreacting right now because of the baby. I don’t want to make a life-changing decision because of some temporary physical condition.”

            “She has never asked me, ever, to talk to you about something.”

            “I know,” Mark agreed, glumly.

            “I really just mean this as a heads-up. I don’t for one minute think that I can convince you to do something you don’t want to do. Just make sure you’re not underestimating this.”

            Mark swore as he stood. “Going to be an unpleasant discussion.”

            “Tell me again how I should get married.”

            “Thank you for the heads-up.”

            “Hey,” said Gray. “What are friends for?”

 

Aubrey decided that the primary requirement for being a waitress was legible handwriting, followed closely by a good sense of balance. Unfortunately for all involved, she had neither. The cooks could not read the orders she put in, and neither could she, when pressed. She wasn’t terribly good at carrying drinks. Or anything, for that matter. Peter hadn’t fired her yet, but she could tell it was coming.

            Stealing a break, she sank down into a seat at the bar and checked the progress of Game Six. Marlins still hanging onto the lead. If they could just pull it off…What? She was feeling a little conflicted. Of course she wanted the Yankees to lose, but she didn’t want it to look like every team in Major League Baseball could beat the Yankees except for the poor, stupid Red Sox. So, even with Game Six going the way it was going, she found herself sitting at the bar trying not to cry. All she needed was to cry. Maybe she could have a drink. Maybe she could find herself another one-night stand. Gray had made her feel so much better. She looked around the bar hopefully, as if Gray would be there. Instead, she met, to her shock, Paul’s eyes. He had just entered the restaurant, frown firmly in place, and it deepened when their eyes met across the room.

            Oh, dear God, no, she thought. One more thing for her to handle. And she just couldn’t handle anymore. She tried to vanish, which was absolutely absurd, because Paul had spotted her, and he honed in on her, and she, sighing, resigned herself to it when he appeared in front of her and demanded, “What do you think you’re doing?”

            She blinked. Then she said, mustering all her dignity, “That is none of your business anymore. Not only are you no longer my husband, you are also no longer my boss.”

            “About that-” said Paul, and then cut himself off, narrowing his eyes at her. “Are you waiting tables? Is that what you’re doing?”

            “I’m…helping Peter out,” she lied. “What do you want?”

            Paul sighed. He fidgeted a bit. He looked genuinely uncomfortable. Then he blurted out, “We can’t do the Monet show without you.”

            I’ll become a nun, God, just to thank You for this fabulous miracle. Instead of letting her gleeful relief show, she said, coolly, “Really? That’s interesting. Just a few days ago it seemed as if you couldn’t do the show with me. If I do recall correctly, I believe I was calling into question the good taste of the museum by having the gall to choose Garamond as my program font.”

            “I was overreacting.”

            Aubrey lifted an eyebrow. “You were overreacting?”

            “Yes. Look, Louis tells me the tickets are selling well.”

            “The tickets are selling well?”

            “Alright, the tickets are selling astonishingly well. This show has got to be a success. I’ve been having Karla step in, but Karla doesn’t have the flair to…I mean, your vision of…”

            “Who told you that my vision of the show was a good one?” asked Aubrey, wryly.

            “Louis.”

            “Thank God for Louis.”

            “Louis said I’m to get you back, okay?” Paul snapped. “So let’s not make me beg here. As if you haven’t gotten enough out of me over the past year. We’re prepared to raise your salary.”

            “The problem wasn’t my salary, Paul. The problem was my proximity to you. If I come back-notice I said ‘if’ there-I don’t want you nitpicking over every little thing.” What the hell was she doing? She needed her job back. She needed it badly. She couldn’t overplay her hand here.

            “We’re both adults, aren’t we? We made a mistake. Let’s move on. Let’s display a little maturity.”

            “Oh, yeah, because you’ve displayed so much maturity during my acquaintance with you.”

            “Now we’re getting into petty insults?” Paul folded his arms and sighed heavily, as if bracing for the long haul. “I do wish you’d grow up, Aubrey.”

            She’d heard that so often during their marriage that she’d kept hearing it even after she’d moved out, would swear she could hear Paul whispering it at her, and then she would turn, and she would be alone in the apartment. Hearing it again now pricked at her temper, but she couldn’t afford to lose her temper again. It was losing her temper that had gotten her into this mess in the first place.

            No, she reconsidered. It was the Red Sox that had gotten her into this mess in the first place. Grady Little. She would kill Grady Little if she ever got him in front of her. Her hands even curled into fists at the thought.

            It turned out that Grady Little was a blessing in disguise, though, because it shifted her temper from Paul onto him, which was good, because this was one time when she couldn’t afford to lose her temper, because she had to get her job back.

            She forced a smile. “I’ll come back. I’ll handle the Monet show for you.”

            “Be on time on Monday,” said Paul, curtly.

            “You’re welcome,” she shot back.

            “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go.”

            She turned after him as he walked away, furious with the dismissive way he’d treated her, and then her jaw dropped open in shock. She couldn’t help it. Because Paul was being met by a tall, stunning, statuesque blonde who leaned over and kissed him full on the mouth. Aubrey heard herself utter a squeak. Inexcuseable! she thought. Inexcuseable that he should have moved on with a model! And at Peter’s restaurant! He knew Peter was her best friend! Bastard!

            Whirling on her heel, she stalked into the kitchen, and found Peter flipping something in a skillet.

            “Peter,” she said.

            He looked up briefly. “Incompetent employees,” he muttered. “I should not be the person doing the actual cooking. It’s my restaurant.”

            “Incompetent employees,” she repeated. “That reminds me. I’m going to quit.”

            Peter closed his eyes in what she could only guess was infinite relief. “Thank God. I didn’t want to fire you, but, Aubrey, sweetheart, I’ve never seen anyone as dismal as you are at waitressing. I’ll pay you just to stay away from this restaurant.”

            “Actually, Paul showed up here and said they need me for the Monet show. I played cool and distant, so not desperate, and graciously accepted the offer.”

            Peter grinned as he scooped his skillet creation onto a plate. “Good for you.”

            “And then his date showed up.”

            Peter paused in the process of garnishing the dish with some parsley. “Uh-oh.”

            “Peter, she’s a model.”

            “Which model?” he asked, with interest.

            “Okay, not literally a model. But really pretty. Much prettier than me. And Paul should not be able to do prettier than me. Paul’s a bastard.”

            “I’ll be sure to slip a note to the model, I promise.”

            “Well, don’t you think she should be forewarned? I should stop by the table and tell some choice stories.”

            “Or you could stop by the table and tell Paul about the stranger with the stomach like a rock.”

            “He would think I was lying.” She frowned in thought. “I wish I could find Gray. Gray would probably do me the favor of showing up somewhere with me and making a big deal of fawning over me. That would show Paul quite nicely.”

            “Tell you what,” remarked Peter, after a second. “I’ll spit in his meal, how’s that? And I’ll take you out later this week.”

            “You’re a good friend,” she said.

            “Good?”

            “The best.” She grinned suddenly. “And you remembered the rock-hard stomach detail, didn’t you?”

            “Get out of my way so I can cook,” he grumbled.

            “You’re better-looking than Paul, you know.”

            “No offense, but I kind of assumed that.”

            “I’m just saying that you could steal this model girl from him.”

            He grinned. “I’ll keep that in mind. Now go home so I don’t have to keep paying you.”

            She did as he told her, and she was home on the couch when Josh Beckett finished his superb game. She was there on the couch when the Marlins started celebrating their World Series win. It felt better than if the Yankees had won, but it barely registered as far as salvaging the whole, disastrous October.

 

Madison’s sleeping?” Mark asked, quizzically, because the baby was passed out on the carpet in front of the television.

            Monica, who was grading papers in front of the evening news, nodded as she drew a large red checkmark. “I think she might be coming down with something. Can you check to see if she’s warm?”

            Mark leaned down, brushed the back of his hand across Madison’s cheek. “Maybe a bit. Not overly much.”

            “I’ll give her some Tylenol when I wake her for dinner. Speaking of which, are you hungry?” She looked up from the papers finally, eyebrows lifted quizzically.

            “Starving.”

            “There’s leftovers from the other night. If you could throw them in the microwave-”

            “You asked Gray to talk to me?” He’d meant to work into it a little more. Oh, well.

            Monica frowned. “Desperate times, Mark.”

            “That was unfair to him.”

            “Gray will deal with it. Gray worries about your wife and children.”

            “And that’s unfair to me.” Mark sat on the couch next to her chair. “We need to talk about this hysterical phase you’re going through.”

            “Please can we blame it on hormones?” she asked, sarcastically.

            “Monica, it’s-”

            “Why do you think I have to be pregnant to love you?”

            “I don’t think that. And I don’t think this is especially connected to the pregnancy, to be honest with you. I think it’s linked to your going out to visit Judy Barrymore last month.”

            Monica didn’t bother to deny that. “Oh, Mark, she-”

            “You shouldn’t have gone to see her.”

            “I have nightmares. The most horrible nightmares. We’re back at Dave Barrymore’s funeral. And Judy is sobbing. You remember how she sobbed?”

            “Monica, you cannot torture yourself with-”

            “Except when I wake it turns out that I’m the one who was crying. I’m the one standing there staring at a coffin that used to be a husband and with children-Mark, how can she take care of her children?”

            “Listen to me.” He leaned forward, cupped his hands around her face. “It isn’t going to be you. Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

            “You don’t know that. You don’t. If you would just go work for Gray-”

            “This is what I do, Monica. This is what I have to do-”

            She pulled one of his hands away from her face, tugged it down to rest on her stomach, where he could feel the baby, kicking steadily. “Do you feel him?” she whispered. “Do you?”

            “Of course I do,” he whispered back.

            “And do you really want him to grow up to be a cop?”

            “I want him to grow up to be anything he wants.”

            “And I just want him to grow up with a father.”

            “Monica…” he sighed.

            “I’m so terrified, Mark. I’m so terrified.”

            She leaned against him, and he could even feel her shivering with the terror. “Shh,” he said, soothingly, and rubbed his hand up and down her back. “Alright. I don’t want to work for Gray, but I’ll see about getting moved to a safer department, okay?”

            “I’m sorry to be so…I would die without you, Mark. And I don’t have that luxury anymore. I have the children.”

            “I’m not going to die, Monica. All the cops in my family, none of us have ever died. I’m not going to be the first. I promise.”