Body Check (36 page)

“Not.”

“Jesus!” She stamped her foot in frustration. “I know, it only serves Kidco, it only makes you a pawn of the big, bad Corporation, I know, I know I know!” She wanted to choke him. “Fine. Have it your way, Ty. I'll go back to Lou and tell him to call Sandi and let her know that the team she's supported her whole life doesn't have five minutes to spare for her.”

Ty clicked the TV back on.

“I feel sorry for you, you know that?” Janna concluded. “You're a great hockey player, but boy, when it comes to being a decent human being, you really suck.”

With that, she crammed the fax back into the pocket of her blazer and left the lounge.

 

 

Wearing his black,
wraparound sunglasses and a Yankees baseball cap pulled down low, Ty easily made it to Queens undetected. He took the Number Seven express train to the end of the line in Flushing. Address in hand, he walked past busy shops tended by Koreans and Pakistanis, the latest wave of immigrants to an area that had once been dominated by Italians, Poles and Irish. Ty liked the feel of the place; it had the same pulsating, multiethnic energy of Manhattan, but on a smaller, more manageable scale. He found Sandi's house—a dead ringer for Archie Bunker's, just like every other house in the surrounding area—and rang the bell. A minute later Sandi appeared, wearing an apron over her Blades jersey and a surprised smile that made her look at least twenty years younger.

“Ty Gallagher! What a surprise!” She took his arm and led him inside. “I was just making some rugelach. Do you want any?”

“Depends on what it is.”

“It's a kind of pastry, you'll love it.” She led him toward a maroon, sectional couch slipcovered in plastic. “Here, you sit down. I'll only be a minute.”

She disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Ty alone with the mouthwatering aroma of baking. The room was comfortable, if a little run-down, filled with nicked, old furniture. The faded, floral-wallpapered walls were adorned with pictures of fair-haired children he guessed were Sandi's grandkids. He thought about his latest run-in with his blond nemesis.

Did Janna honestly think he would turn down an old woman who was practically the team mascot, for Chrissakes? If she knew him at all—and obviously she didn't—she would have figured out that he would do it like this: quietly, privately, no camera crews on his tail. But she didn't know him, or in the very least was incapable of seeing him clearly when she was in publicist mode. Which was exactly why he didn't tell her the moment he read the fax that he planned to visit Sandi. He didn't trust her not to turn it into a media event.

It bugged him that she had again accused him of being some kind of inadequate human being. Twice in one week he'd been told he was, in effect, a “loser” off the ice: once by Kevin, once by Janna. They'd painted him as someone lacking an inner life, someone devoid of humanity. He never thought of himself that way; maybe he'd never had reason to. Yet hearing it twice in one week had to mean he was doing something wrong, didn't it? But what, exactly? And how the hell was he supposed to fix it?

He knew what Kevin's answer would be. Kevin would tell him to get back together with Janna and keep playing the best hockey he could, period. But Kevin didn't understand. Kevin didn't burn for glory the way he did.

So what?
he countered, playing devil's advocate with himself while the sounds of Sandi bustling around the kitchen floated down the dim hallway.
Kevin might not make it into the Hall of Fame, but he has a wife who loves him. His house is filled with kids' laughter. And he's a damn good hockey player. He may not play as well as you, but who's got the happier life, Ty? You or Kevin
?

Just then Sandi appeared, bearing a tray with two coffee mugs and a plate of rugelach, which she shakily put down on the table in front of them.

“How do you want yours?” Ty asked, the plastic slip-cover of the couch crinkling beneath him as he reached forward for the cream and sugar.

“Black is fine.”

He handed her a mug and fixed his own coffee before settling back amidst more plastic crinklings. “You know why I'm here, right?”

“That can wait.” She motioned excitedly at the plate. “Take one, go on. See if you like it.”

Ty perused the plate and reached for one that seemed to be filled with raisins and nuts. Winking at Sandi, he took a bite, then feigned fainting, which delighted her. The rugelach was delicious, it was melt-in-your-mouth good. Perhaps he could entice her into sending him home with a care package.

He held one out to her. “You?”

She shook her head. “Can't. Diabetes. I make them for my husband, Harold.”

Ty nodded, and taking a sip of the coffee, returned to the subject at hand. “About the Playoff tickets.”

Sandi's face held hope. “Do you know someone who can buy them?”

“They're yours.” He fished in the pocket of his denim jacket and pulled out an envelope with the Blades logo on it. “I'm giving you the tickets as a gift.”

Her hands flew to her mouth. “Oh, Ty. Oh, God.”

“There's just one condition.”

“What?” she asked eagerly.

“You don't tell anyone I gave these to you, okay? If anyone asks, they were a gift from Lou.”

“A gift from Lou,” she repeated to herself. “I can remember that.”

“Good.” He pressed them into her hand and leaning over, softly kissed her papery white cheek. “Now enjoy them.”

They talked hockey for awhile, much to Sandi's delight. Finally, noting the encroaching lateness of the hour, Ty finished off his coffee and stood up.

“I should get going,” he said, extending a helping hand to her. Together they walked to her front door.

“I can't thank you enough for the tickets,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion.

“Just make sure you're at Met Gar for Game Two,” he reminded her. “Remember, you're our good luck charm.”

“You boys had better win!”

“We'll win,” Ty promised.” We'll win in Pittsburgh on Wednesday, too. Don't worry.”

“I do worry,” she said, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Something is up with you. I can see it on the ice. You better take care.”

“Everything is fine,” Ty assured her. He gave her a final hug and started down the front steps, grateful his back was to her so she couldn't see his scowl.
Something's up with me, all right,
he thought grimly. But as for doing something about it—well, there was nothing to be done, at least nothing he cared to think about right now.

 

 

Janna spent the
rest of her day laying groundwork for the following fall. Though the season was close to over, the PR office stayed open year round. After leaving Armonk and Ty-the-Heartless, she'd met a woman from the New York Literacy Council for lunch at the Algonquin; the Council was planning a major fundraiser and was interested in having one or more of the players attend to help sell tickets. Following lunch, she'd hustled downtown to meet an editor from
GQ
for coffee at Vesuvio, to pitch him an idea for a profile on Ty. He seemed interested, and agreed to get back to her later in the day with a list of possible writers. All in all, not a bad afternoon. A rough morning, but at least she wouldn't be coming back to Lou completely empty-handed.

She returned to the office to find Lou deep in discussion with Tad Morrison, one of the suits from Corporate.
Listen to you
, she chided herself.
You're starting to sound like Ty
. It was Morrison who had temporarily anointed her interim director of PR in Lou's absence, and to whom she'd had to explain that yes, it was true, she had been seeing Ty Gallagher. Just seeing him again made her flush with remembered embarrassment. Lou gestured for her to come in.

“Janna, you know Mr. Morrison?”

Janna smiled politely, as did Morrison, a hawk-faced, beanpole of a man who rarely smiled for pleasure. She noticed the mood in Lou's office was somber, which was unusual.

“How'd it go?” Lou asked.

Janna defeatedly blew out a puff of air, lifting her bangs. “It's no-go on Sandi Rydel.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I just got off the phone with Sandi. She called and thanked me for the Playoff tickets.”

Janna was stunned. “You're kidding me.”

“Captain Mysterious must have bought them for her and went out to Queens himself to deliver them.”

Janna couldn't believe it.

“How do you want to handle this to get some ink?” Lou continued. “Obviously Gallagher doesn't want credit.”

“We could send someone over to take a picture of Sandi holding the tickets, and we'll say it was a gift from Kidco,” Janna suggested. “We'll have her put on a Blades jersey, hat, the whole works. ”

Lou beamed proudly, looking at Morrison. “What did I tell you? Does this one have it upstairs or what?” He turned to Janna. “Great idea. I was about to suggest it myself.”

“Anything else?” Janna asked, still grappling with the fact that Ty had indeed gone to see Sandi Rydel. Against her will, she felt kindly toward him.
I knew he couldn't be that much of a creep
, she thought.
I knew it
.

Lou took a huge gulp of coffee, casually trying to hide the pizza crust on his desk beneath a pile of papers. “How'd the rest of your stuff go?”

“The Literacy Council is definitely on board, and it looks like
GQ
does want to do a major profile of Gallagher. They talked about interviewing him over the summer so the piece could run in September when the new season starts.”

Morrison coughed uncomfortably as he and Lou exchanged glances. An awkward silence seemed to pervade the room, augmenting the already solemn mood.
Uh oh
, Janna thought.
Not good
. She glanced back and forth between the two men.

“What?” she asked.

“Call
GQ
and tell them to put any thoughts of a Gallagher profile on hold right now, will you, doll?”

“Okaaaay,” Janna said slowly. “May I ask why?”

“Because—” Lou halted as Morrison half rose out of his seat as if to protest. “Keep your shirt on Tad, okay?” Lou barked impatiently. “You know we can trust her.” Morrison looked dubious as he sunk back down onto the couch but made no protest while Lou continued. “You probably know Gallagher's play has been a little off lately.”

Janna nodded, not sure she wanted to hear what was coming next.

“Well, coupled with the fact he's such a ball-busting, uncooperative pill when it comes to PR, Corporate isn't sure if they're going to renew his contract at the end of the season.”

“I see,” said Janna, suppressing a gasp. She was in shock. Utter and complete shock.

Lou drained his coffee mug. “Needless to say you don't know about this.”

“Of course,” she assured him.

“From now on,” Morrison commanded from the couch, “push the younger players like Lubov and Mitford as much as you can.”

“Even if Gallagher's play gets better?” Janna asked politely, nauseated at the thought of having to push Lubov for anything.

Morrison nodded sagely. “We need to focus more on the up-and-coming players, not the players who are in the twilight of their careers.”

Ouch
, thought Janna. Thank God Ty wasn't here, he'd rip Morrison's head off and use it as a bowling ball. As it was, she was having a hard time listening to this. The instinct to excuse herself was overwhelming; there were so many things she longed to say, so many words dancing on the tip of her tongue that could get her into serious trouble. All she could do was stand there and nod like an idiot, and pray Lou released her from this hell soon. Before the dam broke and she found herself rising to the defense of the man who'd broken her heart, ruined her morning, and who only nine short months ago was the biggest thorn in her side.

“You look green, doll, you okay?”

Lou's words broke the spell. She shook off his question with another smile, this one faker than the last. “I'm fine,” she told him. “It's just been a long day.”

Lou's laugh was hollow. “Truer words have never been spoken.”

“Does Jack know about this?” Janna asked.

“Not yet,” Lou replied cryptically, his eyes once again meeting Morrison's in some secret exchange of knowledge.

Janna's spirits lifted for a moment. Maybe they were going to fire Cowley!

“Anything else?” she asked Lou again.

“Nah, that's it for today.” In an unusual gesture of politeness and formality, no doubt done to impress Tad Morrison, Lou walked her to the door of his office, holding it open for her.

“I know it's hard to have info no one else is privy to, but please keep it under your hat,” he murmured.

Janna squeezed his hand. “I will,” she promised him.

But even then, she knew she was lying.

 

 

 

 

The game opener
of the Conference Finals. The Pittsburgh fans were rabid, and the Blades fans were easily their equals. The excitement and enthusiasm of their cheering was infusing the arena with a wild, ear-splitting energy. Watching Ty fly down the opponent's ice, Janna had a hard time believing Corporate would let him go. He was the consummate athlete, brain and body working in perfect tandem, with an almost uncanny ability to know exactly what needed to be done on the ice. He had tremendous leadership skills; he was caring yet tough, relentless yet inspiring, was unafraid to put himself on the line if it meant the difference between victory and defeat. And yet . . .