“So,” Jay said, sitting behind his desk, “you’ve been stirring up the sports world a bit.”
“I was in the right place at the right time when the story broke.” He’d had to practice humility in the mirror. It didn’t come naturally.
Jay grinned. “I’ll bet it’s good to be back in the limelight.”
“It is.”
“What were the nonfootball years like?”
Every celebrity asked him that. Nothing scared a famous person more than the thought of a sudden plunge into obscurity. “Like trading in a Ferrari for a used Volvo.”
“Ouch,” Jay said, and the audience laughed. “What made you do it? A lot of athletes are plenty pissed off.”
“I’m a father,” he said simply. “It could have been one of my daughters in that room with Drew Grayland. We need to go back to the days when good sportsmanship mattered, on and off the field.”
The audience erupted into applause again. A few “boos” rose above the noise.
The interview lasted another few minutes. Jay was a genius at pulling a funny remark out of serious statement, while not making light of the subject.
Then, suddenly, it was over. The music started, the lights came up, and Jay stood. He clapped Jack on the back. “You were great.”
Jack felt like he’d just led his team to a Super Bowl victory.
Thea walked over to Jay and kissed his cheek. “Thanks.” She lowered her voice, said something else. Jay laughed, then waved at Jack and left the stage.
Still smiling, Thea walked over to Jack. A slow smile curved her full, puffy lips. She was certain of her effect on men; took it for granted, he’d say. “You were good,” she purred, leaning closer.
“Thanks.”
“Would you like—”
Sally came up beside him. “You were great,” she said breathlessly. To Thea, she said, “I’m Sally. Jack’s assistant. It’s an honor to meet you.”
Thea looked at Sally’s hand, placed possessively on Jack’s forearm. “How lucky for you. I’d better run. I’ve got a premiere tonight.” When she smiled at Jack, he felt a rush of pure heat. “It was nice to meet you. I hope to see you again.”
“Uh, yeah. Me, too.”
When she was gone, he looked down at Sally, who was staring up at him as if he were a god.
NINETEEN
On Friday, Meghann called exactly on time.
Elizabeth considered not answering, but knew it would be pointless. Meghann would just call back every five minutes until she got through.
With a sigh, she answered the phone. “Heya, Meg.”
“I would have let it ring forever, you know.”
Elizabeth sat down at the kitchen table. “The thought occurred to me.”
“Tonight’s the big night. The painting class you told me about. God, I wish I could be there.”
“You mean you wish you were driving me to class.”
“And walking you to the door.”
Elizabeth smiled a little. “I did consider not going.”
“Of course you did. But if you don’t do it now …” Meg let the sentence trail off, unfinished. An uncoalesced threat, worse somehow for having no form.
“I know. And I’m going. I am.”
“Good. Will you call me when you get home? I have a date, so I should be home by nine o’clock at the latest.”
“Is that his curfew?”
“Very funny. He happens to be twenty-eight, a most respectable age. I just don’t waste time anymore. If a date isn’t going well in the first thirty minutes, believe me, it’s not going to pick up.”
“Maybe he’ll surprise you.”
“Birdie, they all surprise me. Last week, I hugged my date at the door and felt a bra strap. Well, I gotta go. Keep your chin up and remember how talented you are.”
Were.
“I’ll remember,” she said.
“Keep moving. Don’t stop or slow down until your ass is in the chair.”
“Okay.”
For the next hour, Elizabeth followed her best friend’s advice. She didn’t allow herself to pause or sigh or slow down or think.
Pack the supply bag.
Take a shower.
Dry your hair.
Get dressed.
Drive.
She managed to get to the community college in less than thirty minutes. She parked right in front and went inside.
Outside classroom 108, a sign was posted. It read: beginning painting/ 5:00.
Cautiously, she opened the door. Inside the small classroom, there were six or seven people—all women—seated in a semicircle. In front of them, a long table was draped in white fabric. A brown wooden bowl sat in the middle; it was piled high with bright red apples.
She tried her best to move invisibly as she sidled around a pressboard bookcase and toward a vacant seat. She held her canvas bag against her chest as if it were a bulletproof vest.