“Last night and again today…that explains all the goofy grins,” he ribs me. “So I take it you’re not coming over later to watch the game?”
Since Dwayde’s grandparents came on the scene, I’ve spent most evenings and weekends at Victor’s. I try to assuage my conscience by telling myself Dwayde is safe and in good spirits…the Franklins haven’t contacted him again…there’s no news for now. But I also know we still need to get Dwayde to open up, and the more time I spend with him, the better the chances of that happening. I think of Dee and feel the pull in both directions.
“Bros before bras, my ass,” Victors says, reading my dilemma, but his comment is delivered with a smile. He claps my shoulder. “We’ll see you tomorrow at Maria’s. Dwayde’s good. Go make my sister happy, man. You both deserve it.”
After I wave Dwayde and Victor off I nod to Stiles, confirming that he’s finished for the day. Then I dial Mort’s and place my order. At 11:30 I arrive ahead of the lunch crowd. Going incognito, I receive a few curious stares but no recognition. The young hostess harmlessly flirts with me as she apologizes for the delay and ushers me over to a table, where I can wait while my order is being packed.
No sooner have I taken a seat than the door opens, bringing in a blustery autumn breeze and Paul O’Malley. Typically disheveled, he looks out of place in the upscale market-deli. His windblown comb-over sticks up, as though he’s just been zapped by an electric prod. His beige sweater has a coffee stain down the button placket, and his wrinkled slacks give the appearance of being slept in.
I haven’t seen him since I busted his lip and knocked him flat on his ass. But it’s no coincidence that he’s here at the same time that I am. “Stalking me, O’Malley?”
“Thought I might buy you a conciliatory beer.”
“No, thanks.”
“Oh, that’s right,” he says and snaps his fingers. Then with a grating smirk that tells me there’s nothing conciliatory about this meeting, he braces his palms on the table and leans in. “I seem to recall you had a problem with the bottle during college.”
“What do you want, O’Malley?”
“To make a deal.” He waits a beat and when I don’t so much as nibble, he says, “I’ll forget about filing a lawsuit against you in exchange for an exclusive.”
I laugh. “What exclusive? There’s no story here.”
“Oh, come off it, Peters.” He angles his head to try to get a read on me through my opaque lens. “You quit the NBA at the height of your career and then invest a load of cash into building Papa’s Kids in honor of Cayo Torres. Meanwhile, you rarely mention your old man, and he’s just as tight-lipped about your lack of relationship as you are. After all your fame, you suddenly just fade into the background. And you expect me to believe there’s no story here.”
My temper flares and I clench my fists, struggling to keep my cool. “I don’t give a fuck what you believe, what you think, or what you do.”
“Tough words,” he says. “But everybody has a weak spot, Peters. What took you to the Lemon Lounge last night?”
My stomach bunches with a sick sense of foreboding, but I continue to mask my emotions. “You’d know if you’d been invited to hang with the big boys.”
His eyes harden, telling me I’ve found his weak spot. “Thebig boysfell for your solo act. I didn’t. I read about you being there and got to wondering, why would Micah Peters be at a birthday party for the daughter of a commercial real estate builder? She’s dating some bone doctor, so she wasn’t the draw. And his upper-crust friends and their daughters don’t seem your type.”
“Is this going somewhere, O’Malley?”
“Indeed, it is. I checked around and guess what I found?” He pauses for effect. “A friend of Alexandra Townsen’s. A woman you couldn’t seem to keep your hands off of.”
I feel my poker expression falter at his triumphant announcement and the muscles in my jaw clench.
“Ah…that got a reaction. Protective. Proprietary. It’s written all over your face, Peters. My source told me about the intimate dances…the passionate kiss. And most interesting of all,” he says as his smile turns caustic, “she’s said not to be your usual type. Is that why you’re hiding her from the media?”
Goddamn it. I’m not hiding Dee. I’m protecting her from vultures like him. But as much as I try to deflect it, given the choice I made to keep her a secret years ago, his shot aims past my defenses and hits dead center, where I store all my regrets and guilt.
“It will make for interesting headlines,” he taunts me, indicating an invisible banner with his hands:Micah Peters, Closet Chubby Chaser.”
I’m out of my chair in an instant, fury blinding me as I reach for him, wanting to knock that smug expression off his ruddy face and stuff his insulting words down his fucking throat.
“Go on and do it, Peters. I’d love to make news with you again.”
For a second, through my red haze, nothing else matters. I don’t care about the onlookers. All I want is to beat him to a bloody mass. But I hear Dee’s voice.Don’t do it, Mick.Think about Dwayde. If you hit O’Malley, he’ll press charges, the story will go viral, and your witness testimony will be useless. Walk away. For Dwayde…for your family…for me…just walk away.
Not trusting myself to utter a single word, I ball my hands into iron fists at my sides and leash my fury. O’Malley watches my angry retreat with relish. It’s all I can do to leave the son of a bitch standing.
Once I collect my order and I’m inside the car, I heave out raging breaths.
Who was O’Malley’s source? Miranda Townsen would have turned up her nose at the likes of the celebrity blogger and freelance tabloid reporter. No, whoever O’Malley spoke to didn’t know Dee by name. Maybe the beauty pageant queen? But for what motive…jealousy? Most likely, it was one of the serving staff who saw us together…saw that heated kiss.
Everybody has a weak spot.How long will it take before O’Malley discovers her identity? Weeks? Days? He won’t hesitate to use Dee to get to me. He’ll write sensationalistic headlines about her not being my “usual type”—commentary that will wreak havoc with Dee’s psyche. What’s more, he’ll dig. He’ll snoop into her life as a foster child, find out her connection to the Torreses…to me…find out about her mother’s suicide…Jesus, her miscarriage. I grip the wheel, my knuckles whitening, my thoughts murderous.
